


A Dragon Moves Amongst Us

by silverducks



Category: Thor (2011)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-12
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2017-10-31 00:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 51,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/338021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverducks/pseuds/silverducks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During one of their many adventures, Sif runs into a dragon who looks and acts just like Loki. She doesn't realise it's only a trick and finds herself in a lot of trouble, in more ways than one...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_So, I was set a drabble challange by Ceema to write a Sif/Loki story where Sif meets a dragon who looks and acts like Loki. I'm not very good at sticking to drabble length, so here's the first chapter in what will probably end up being a longish story. It's more like a prolouge than a chapter, but I hope you enjoy reading it and more is definitely on its way!_

_\--------------------------------------------------_

There was a strange chill in the air, which Loki did not like in the least. It stank of foul magic and left his skin crawling. How the great oafs of his brother and the idiots three managed to sleep in this foul forest, Loki had no idea. But then they had always scoffed at the power of magic, even when it defeated them time and time again, and had not bothered to train in the perception of evil magic and the danger it could unleash. Their great snoring was testament to this and even if Loki’s senses were not on high alert in this foreboding forest, he still would have found little rest thanks to them.

The sudden movement on the far side of the camp caught his eye and he saw Sif crawl out of her sleeping bag gingerly, quietly, afraid to wake anyone, though why she bothered Loki did not know, for it would take a thousand trolls crashing into their camp to wake the sleeping fools. She glanced around once she had stood and Loki quickly stilled his movements, closing his eyes and measuring his breath. He felt her eyes on him for a moment too long and Loki worried she could hear his suddenly pounding heart in the still of the night. She must have seemed satisfied all were asleep, for Loki felt her gaze draw back and heard her gentle footsteps start in the direction of the thick trees.

A breath he had not realised he held spilled from his lips as he heard her footsteps fade away and once more only the tuneless music of the idiots asleep filled the clearing. Even though he knew it was futile until Sif returned safely, he was about to close his eyes and try again to sleep, when he felt a strange trembling, a twisting in the magic all around him. The sickening, malevolent feel of it seemed to distort, to coalesce and condense and, with his heart suddenly pounding once more, he realised it travelled in the direction Sif had taken.

He bolted upright, too alarmed for a moment to care if he drew attention to himself. Whatever was wielding the magic had its eye on Sif and Loki looked towards the tall trees in alarm. He could not see far within the thick, dense forest, but there was an odd distortion in the blackness all around, a strange shadow that pulled and twisted in the dark, at odds with the still, quiet of the darkness cast by nightfall. It took him about two heartbeats to think and he was on his feet in one. Muttering a quick spell to enclose himself in shadow, and another to create a bright green flame in his palm only he could see, he followed the stinking, evil blackness ahead, which seemed to suck the very life and energy out of the air as it moved deeper within the trees. Loki could sense the magic of the darkness twisting and turning maliciously, cruelly and he did his best to remain at a distance, his hands clutching at his sides to help resist the urge to barge ahead, to shout out and warn Sif of the imminent danger she was in. Instead, he stayed silent, pulling his own shadows around him to hide as he followed the darkness, knowing it would lead him to Sif.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Sif felt herself stumble as she clambered through the thick undergrowth of leaves, twisted roots and fallen branches, heading in what she hoped was the direction of the camp. She had only planned on stepping a short distance into the forest, just far enough to take care of business without risk of being seen. She had been careful to keep the distant light of the dying fire within sight, to guide her back to camp. Yet when she had turned around, all she could see was darkness, a thick, dense darkness that even the moonlight was unable to penetrate. Sif had never been one for superstitions and speculation, never one to let small fears and forebodings hamper her confidence. But there was something in the air tonight, something that made her skin crawl, and something that had been growing progressively worse since she had first begun her short trip into the woods. She quickened her pace, anxious to return to camp.

A hidden tree root caught her off guard and Sif felt herself thrown forwards. In her surprise and the almost complete blackness, she was unable to regain her balance or prepare for the fall, and she hit the ground hard. Her arms took most of the impact as they collided with the firm earth buried beneath the leaves and her leg banged into another twisted root. It was a few moments before Sif’s awareness caught up with her and she was just about to push herself upwards on painful arms, when she heard a very familiar voice above her.

“My Lady Sif. I hope you are not hurt.”

Sif glared up at Loki’s concerned face; she was not fooled and she felt a combination of annoyance and embarrassment wash over her. Trust it to be the trickster around when she fell. “I am quite alright, Loki,” Sif retorted, her wounded pride leaking into her voice as she looked down again, away from the feigned sympathy in the trickster’s eyes.

A hand appeared before her vision and Sif glared at it a moment, before she swallowed her pride and took it, allowing Loki to pull her to her feet. It was only when she was standing, facing Loki, that she had the first inkling that something was not quite right. Despite the blackness around them, Sif could see him perfectly, though he held no light. She wondered for a moment what new magic this was, but then the smirk on his face pulled her attention and she glared at him further. He still held her hand and she quickly pulled it away, ignoring the warmth of his fingertips.

Thankfully, he made no comment about her fall and instead cocked his head to one side, considering her. His scrutinising gaze was unnerving and she fought hard to resist the urge to fidget. There was something odd about his gaze, the confident lilt in his expression as he watched her and the arrogant turn of his posture. It was the Loki she saw at court, when he was mocking the sheep who would fawn at his father’s thrown, or planning his latest trick to create calamity within the palace halls. It was many a century now that Loki had learnt better than to toy with her like this, many a broken jaw and a bruised rib, so what on earth was he playing at now?

She felt her hands start to clench in her effort to remain still and she quickly turned on her heel before he could notice and began walking away from him. She was in no mood to engage in whatever game Loki had planned.

“Am I not to be thanked for my assistance, my Lady?” Loki called after her, his words mocking but his tone held something else, something Sif could not quite put her finger on. Something that made the blood within her veins start to simmer, her heartbeat to quicken and every muscle within her body tensed, poised to run.

“Thank you, my _Prince_ ,” she called mockingly back, ignoring the effect of his words and refusing to turn to look at him. She needed to concentrate on the twisted roots beneath her and did not want to see the smirk that she knew would be pulling at his lips.

As she stepped further away from him, the light fell quickly, until the blackness was all consuming again and she had to carefully feel the way with her feet. She could feel Loki’s gaze following her, watching her, and she did her best to ignore the way it made her heart pound and her skin prickle. There was something strange in the air now, some unnatural magic she could not identify and it was creeping along her skin, making her battle senses rage and putting her teeth on edge.

She had longed since learnt to identify Loki’s magic, long since recognised the sound, the shape, the sight, the _feel_ of it when it rose in the air around him. It took on many different forms, sometimes comforting or protective, sometimes teasing or playful, sometimes frightening or dangerous, but it was always distinctly Loki’s. Always it would seep into her skin and pulse like music, a perfect harmony within her very soul. This was different, unfamiliar, unnerving and Sif had to fight hard to push her apprehensions away.

She had not gone too many steps when she heard Loki call after her, his voice filled with an unsettling merriment and mischief. “You are going the wrong way, my Lady.”

Sif stilled, but that was all the acknowledgement she would give to Loki’s words. They grated on her patience, mixed with the suspicions and anxieties plaguing her thoughts, the tension filling her body. Already she was sick and tired of Loki’s games and she was determined to not give him any more satisfaction.

When she did turn around to face him, after a few moments of stubbornness and pride, she was taken aback to find him leaning confidently against a tree, his arms folded arrogantly and his smirk dancing with a mischief that was reflected in his eyes. His cocky disposition annoyed Sif further, especially as she knew full well it was at her expense, and without a word she marched towards him, about to brush past and head towards the camp. Just as she reached his side though, he suddenly shot out his hand and grabbed hold of her arm. His grip was strong, but surprisingly gentle, and she stopped instantly in her tracks. She could feel the coolness of his fingertips through her sleeves and she felt a shiver run through her.

“Where are you going in such a hurry, my Lady?” Loki asked. His voice was deep, heavy, tempting, and Sif felt another shiver run through her. She refused to meet his gaze though, staring resolutely ahead, more in fear of what he may see in her eyes than anything else. The air was growing heavy around them, intense, charged, reminding Sif of the stillness in the air before a thunderstorm struck. Her heart was not helping either, it was racing now and her skin was burning where his cool fingertips lay.

She tried to laugh, to relieve some of the tension. “I am going back to camp, Loki. It is freezing cold out here.”

Sif tired to move again, but his grip tightened on her arm and though his words were teasing, his voice was heavy when he replied, “There are many things one can do to keep warm, my Lady.”

Her senses were screaming at her now, her mind telling her to run, warning of danger. It was in the very air around them, in the heat of Loki’s body so close and in the intensity of his gaze upon her. It took all her effort to remain still, to stand strong and force herself to turn towards him, to meet the challenge she knew she would see in his eyes. When she caught his gaze though, she felt her breath catch in her throat. There was no challenge in them, instead they were dark, intense, hungry and Sif suddenly felt very small, vulnerable, like the prey caught in the predators glare. There could be no doubt of his intentions and she felt herself shiver, half in anticipation and half in fear. Her voice was sticking in her throat, but she managed to choke out a few words, tried to lace it with pride and dignity, “What do you want from me, Loki?”

 

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_Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it and more chapters are definitely on their way soon!_


	3. Chapter 3

The dense blackness had gone. Loki had lost its trace when a hidden branch had caught his foot and he had been thrown forwards. The first thought that came to him as he righted himself was that it was too late. The evil magic had found Sif and she had been taken, or killed. Loki did not know which was worst. So blind was his panic and pain at the thought, it was a few moments before reason returned. No, if the foul creature had hurt Sif, or even taken her, the traces of the magic would still remain. This sudden disappearance was more nefarious than that. It was a deliberate concealment, which meant it was gaining on its prey.

Loki quickly whispered a few words in an ancient tongue and pushed the magic as far as he dare risk it. Nothing. He could increase the power, cast it out across the whole forest, but then whatever the creature was, and many creatures beside, would be alerted to his presence. That could put Sif in even more danger. Instead, he moved hastily forwards, pushing through the thick trees and trying to find his bearings in the same, dense blackness. His own green light unable to penetrate deeply into the night.

It was only when he tripped once more on a hidden branch that the thought occurred to him. As he pushed himself up from the sodden, dirty leaves, he noticed the impression of another. Loki stood up quickly, glanced around, but he could not be sure. The trees all looked so similar in the inky blackness. He placed his hand on the nearest tree trunk and whispered a few words in an ancient tongue. A green handprint glowed momentarily, before it was engulfed by the blackness. Loki smiled grimly; no one but he would be able to sense his mark, and it would fade by daybreak.

Continuing on, Loki did his best to stay straight, heading deeper into the forest, searching for the source of the magic and any recent, tell tale signs that another had passed this way. When he reached the hidden branch a third time, his careful footsteps halting a third fall, Loki immediately reached towards the nearest tree. When the same, ancient words brought forward a green light, swirling around and taking the form of a handprint, Loki cursed. He was going around in circles and it was no accident. There was a far more powerful force at work here than just the blackness of the night and the similarity of the trees. He was being deliberately disorientated, waylaid. And he had not even been able to sense this powerful spell, spread out across the forest and designed to confuse any unwelcome footsteps. This creature was even more powerful than Loki had ever imagined. Not only would it be next to impossible to find Sif, but she was in grave danger. He could not delay any longer; he had to find her before this evil, powerful creature did.

Loki took a deep, steadying breath and reached out his arms wide. The words of the powerful spell that would cast his magical eye across the whole forest had just begun to slip off his tongue when he heard it. Voices. They were faint, but one was as distinct to him as his own breathing and it momentarily stopped his heart. He hastily closed his lips, cutting off the remaining spell before it could wrought any damage. Quickly, Loki headed in the direction of the voices, eager to find her.

He suddenly stopped in his tracks. Voices… There were two voices, one distinctly Sif’s, the other muffled, but sounding deeper, male. That could mean only one thing. Sif was talking to this person, Sif _knew_ this person.

As the full implication took weight, Loki felt as if Sif had plunged her sword deep into his heart and twisted it down into his gut and up into his lungs. He couldn’t breathe for many moments and pain blinded his thoughts. She was not out in these woods to take a breath of air or to see to any business. She was here to meet _him_ , whoever _he_ might be. Thor? Fandral? Maybe even Hogun? Loki did not know and he could have sworn he had heard his oath of a brother and the fools three still snoring away when he had left. But then, he had not looked too closely at their sleeping forms, one could have slipped past him or maybe even followed on behind for this pre-arranged meeting. For that it must have been for them to find each other. And there could be only one reason for them to meet in the dark woods, at night, and away from the safety of the camp…

Loki took a few steps forward, then stopped, turned around, walked a few more back, then stopped again. His fingers were continually clenching into fists as the pain turned into anger, snaking through him like venom. The green light he had wielded for vision was blazing around him, roaring up into the thick canopy as if the very forest was on fire with his anger and pain. Part of him wanted to know, _had_ to know, who Sif was meeting. Yet he did not know if he would be able to face it, seeing them, together. Especially if it was _him_ ; his fool of a brother Thor. Loki knew full well all of Asgard had been planning the wedding of the Crown Prince and the Lady Warrior for centuries, even if no agreement had ever been in place between them. At least, Loki thought, none he was aware of. Well, if they chose to keep it a secret, so be it, what did he care anyway! He forced his rage and magic under control and started walking back towards camp, his angry footsteps muffled by the thick leaves on the forest floor.

Loki had just reached the marked tree and was about to step over the branch when he stopped, suddenly remembering. No. He could not leave them. No matter what they were doing out here, they were still in danger. The powerful magician was still stalking them and neither possessed enough magic to protect themselves. He could not leave Sif and _him_ out here, alone and with no idea of what was approaching. Loki would just have to face his own demons and besides, Loki thought, had he not always known it would come to this, one day?

He swallowed hard, gritted his teeth and turned around once more. His palms were pulsing now with magic, crackling all around him as he forced all his senses onto full alert. This new task, this focus of finding them, was helping to drive out the pain that still seemed lodged in his heart.

He could only hope he reached them in time.

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_Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it. Sorry for the delay - more is defiinitely on its way soon!_


	4. Chapter 4

Loki’s smirk widened as he considered her, taking his time to answer her question. It was a smirk which would usually pull forth a glare from Sif, or a sharp fist to the stomach. But not this time. Not when Loki’s eyes burned into her, the intensity within holding her completely still, unable to even breathe. Not when his eyes were filled with a desire she had rarely even let herself dream she would see reflected in them one day as he looked upon her.

He leaned closer to her as he spoke, almost whispering against her ear. “I want to show you something, Sif.” His voice was so soft, so tantalisingly soft and warm that Sif felt herself lean ever so slightly closer to him. She felt her head tilt upwards, seeking, pulled by the desire in his voice and the warmth of his breath on her neck. She wondered what would happen if she leant that bit closer, tilted her head that bit higher…

When Loki then pulled gently on her arm, stepping forwards, Sif felt herself automatically move with him, turning around towards him, pulled like the waves on the beach at the mercy of the tide. He grinned back at her, a delicious combination of a triumphant smirk and seductive smile. His hand slipped from the firm grip on her arm, tracing along her wrist to entwine with her fingers as he turned around and started to gently pull her with him, heading deeper into the forest.

It was only after they had walked for several minutes that Sif felt her earlier anxieties start to creep back in. The forest was unsettling her again, the air seemed to almost part around them, the unnatural disconnected light following and the strange, unfamiliar magic allowing them passage. It slipped over her skin and started to percolate into her veins. It played on her nerves and felt out of tune, discordant somehow, not beautiful and harmonious like Loki’s magic usually felt as it seeped into her soul. Yet as she tried to chase the feeling, tried to grasp hold of what was peculiar about the situation, her thoughts would dance away from her, like she was trying to catch hold of a dream. Her mind did not quite feel like her own, as if the deep magic within the forest was somehow distorting her thoughts and clouding her reason. And that was never a good thing when she was around the second son of Odin.

“Where are we going?” Sif asked, annoyed at the way her voice cracked, the nervous fear creeping in. The sense of danger was still hanging in the air, stirring her battle instincts once again, telling her to run, to flee and not fight this unknown foe.

“It would not be a surprise if I told you, would it now, Sif?” Loki turned around and smirked at her, his voice sounding slightly exasperated.

It was the wrong move, for it broke through some of the haze that seemed to have weakened Sif’s mind and instincts and she suddenly stopped. They should not be going this way; they should head back to camp, back to safety. Even with Loki, Sif did not think it was a good idea they continue, wherever it was he was taking her. She considered asking him about it, for surely Loki, as gifted as he was in the art of sorcery, would understand what it was. But something made her hold her tongue, a deep seated survival instinct she could not identify. And she did not understand what was going on, what Loki was up to anyway. That in itself was not unusual, for she did walk with the God of Mischief and Lies and she was used to him playing tricks and games. But it was never like this, never so unnerving and intimidating. _This_ was not like Loki, dragging her into such an ominous forest in the middle of the night. Never had their relationship ever strayed this far off the path. Usually he avoided her as much as she avoided him, and Sif was glad of it, glad of the distance usually between them, the icy glares and the frosty words. It made it easier to hide, to forget and pretend that her feelings for Loki were innocent, that she cared little for the second Prince of Asgard. She was always so careful, always made sure no one, not even the second prince himself, suspected she cared for him. Sif tried to think then, to remember what had happened between them recently, if anything in her actions had given her away, but she could think of nothing. And until this moment, Loki had never shown the slightest inclination towards her, nothing save for resentment, hostility, and occasionally the past memories of a shared childhood. So where in all of the nine realms was he taking her in the middle of the night?

Loki pulled on her hand, but she remained still. He turned towards her fully as he continued, “You are not afraid, are you, mighty shield maiden?”

The teasing accusation was met with a scowl and she snapped, her nerves fraying together with her slighted pride, “No, of course I am not afraid.”

When Loki’s smirk twisted higher across his face, Sif clenched her fists, but she forced her voice to remain calm as she continued, “But I am impatient to return to camp and seek rest, you know we have a long journey to continue tomorrow.”

“But it is not far now, Sif. Come with me,” Loki urged, pulling again on her hand. His eyes were challenging her again, taunting her to continue following him into this strange, dark, magical forest. 

Sif took two steps towards him, before she forced herself to stop again, trying to fight the strange haze that was still pushing at her mind. “You can show me in the morning, Loki.” She looked meaningfully down at his hand in hers and when Loki let go, Sif quickly pulled her arm back, tucking it safely behind her back and ignoring the heat that was still lingering from where he had touched her.

“We will not have time in the morning,” Loki answered, stepping towards her.

Instinctively, Sif took a step back, seeking a little safe distance from the trickster. She cursed her reaction immediately, cursed her weakness and inability to remain steadfast. It almost felt like an admission, an affirmation of her own wants and desires. So when Loki took another step towards her, Sif did not step back this time. She kept her feet firmly in place, clenching her fists and fighting every instinct within her to run.

Sif knew she should just turn around, head back towards the safety of the camp and get away from whatever game Loki was playing and these hideous woods. But then Loki took another step forwards and his gaze started boring into her again, burning her. It was heavy, intense, determined and it held her in place, caught her in his trap. The strange magic vibrating on the air was starting to thrum through her veins again, pushing into her mind and becoming a weight on her muscles, preventing her from moving, thinking, fleeing.

She had waited, wanted, longed for this for so long and the temptation was becoming too overpowering. She had been so careful and tried so hard to resist for so many years, her defences were now all but exhausted. She never thought it would happen, never dreamed Loki may return her affections, even for a moment. Yet, there was no mistaking the look in Loki’s eyes now, the way they burned into her and made her entire being shiver with heat. He took the final step towards her and seemed to tower over her, his deep emerald eyes dancing with a magic she had never seen within their depths before. It was pulling her forwards, bringing her face, her body closer to his.

“I am not playing any of your games, Loki.” Her voice cracked, her futile words a final act of defiance against the inevitable. 

“Who said this was a game, my Lady Sif?” Loki whispered in her ear. Yet even as Loki gently reached out and traced her cheek bone, even as his eyes fell to her lips and he tilted her head towards his, she knew it must be. Something was still not quite right, the danger was still there, emanating from him and from the thick forest air all around them. But it was dulled now, a faint ringing in her mind, a weak stirring in her battle trained survival instincts. It was overpowered by the heat simmering in her blood and by the pounding of her heart. And as she felt his breath tickle her lips, Sif decided she did not care anyway. Whatever the consequences would be come the morrow, whatever price she would have to pay, it would be worth it, for just one kiss...

And so, when his lips finally met hers in a gentle kiss, Sif simply wrapped her arms around him, pulled him closer and tentatively kissed him back.

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_I hope you enjoyed this chapter, more are definitely on their way soon._

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

The voices were not easy for Loki to follow. They ebbed and flowed, twisted and distorted by the powerful magic that strummed through the air and aimed to cause confusion and disorientation to any unwelcome travellers. One minute they sounded close enough to touch, the next as if they came from a distant dream, another world entirely. The trees seemed to echo back the voices, the leaves whispering the words, taunting Loki, tricking him. Countless times he stopped as the voices suddenly changed direction, altering his course and retracing his footsteps. He carefully marked his way with magic and he cursed whenever he stumbled upon another of his markings again, Still, he had to reach them, and soon. Sif’s life was in danger and perhaps that of his brother.

So Loki pushed forwards, deeper into the forest, forcing the thick branches and leaves away as he strayed further and further off the path. He did not question why they had strayed so far themselves, for if the magic was strong enough to counter and confuse even Loki, Sif and her friend would have no chance of resisting the pull. As he crashed through the forest, quickening his pace, it was only through the strength of his magic that he remained concealed. He could not risk alerting this strange sorcerer to his presence. Even Loki could admit this magic was stronger than his own and surprise could well be his only hope of saving Sif and whoever it was she had come here to meet. So he held his magic carefully in his hand, allowing it to build in intensity, ready to either defend or fight this unknown foe.

Suddenly the voices stopped. Loki froze in place. His worst fears suddenly overtook him; all was lost, the sorcerer had taken them, killed them… His fears fed his own magic and it escaped his grasp, started crackling in the air all around him, casting the surrounding forest in an emerald green light. He started running now, heading in what he hoped was the right direction. The tree roots and thick branches tried to block his way and trip his feet, but still Loki ploughed onwards. He had to reach them. Soon.

The voices started again as suddenly as they had stopped. They were louder this time and Loki once again heard Sif’s unmistakeable voice, though he could still not identify the second. They sounded calm, unafraid and Loki realised they were close by and safe, for now. He slowed his pace again, anxious now that not only did the sorcerer not hear him, but also Sif and whoever she was with. He would only make his presence known to them if it was necessary, see if he could fight this unknown foe without their knowledge. He moved forwards a little more, slipped around the thick trunk of a tree, stepped carefully over a fallen branch and pushed a dense leafy branch aside. Suddenly he saw her, standing a short distance away in a small clearing. Loki’s heart jumped into his throat, the relief flooding through him so powerful the very ground beneath his feet seemed to vibrate with it.  

She was safe, unhurt, talking, though he could not understand her words. As his eyes peered further into the darkness, he started to make out the shape of the figure standing facing her. The dimness of the forest seemed to shroud the figure in shadows and Loki could not place him. His face was turned away from Loki, but something about him seemed unnervingly familiar. He did not seem to have the bulk of his brother though, or the right height for Fandral and the hair remained seeped in darkness.

Reining in his jealousy as best he could, Loki stepped sideways slowly, cautiously, circling them so he could look upon the face of the unknown figure. He used the trees to hide himself and wrapped his concealing magic tighter around him. He could not risk exposure, not now. Instead he would wait, keep guard for when this evil presence showed itself, for surely it would, now its prey was caught so tightly in the web of this dark, inescapable forest.

A sharp pain sped through his hands as the figure moved closer to Sif and Loki realised he was clenching his fists so tightly, the nails were nearly piercing his skin. He did not release his grip though, for the pain helped ground him, helped prevent him from losing his control. It was already at breaking point, his magic hissing and scorching the air around him. He felt it pulse through his veins, growing stronger, building in intensity, seeking a way out. It almost burst from him as Loki watched the figure reach for Sif, saw her arms wrap around his neck, her head bend upwards. It was only the agonising pain that swept through him as Sif reached up and kissed the figure that helped Loki rein in his power.

Even though Loki had expected to witness this, to actually see it with his own eyes, to actually witness Sif, kissing another, a kiss growing quickly in passion, shattered Loki’s heart to pieces. He never would have thought it possible, that he, the great Loki, son of Odin, could be reduced to _this_ , this pitiful excuse for an Æsir, rendered so helpless by mere jealousy and affection. But it was happening; even the great God of Lies could not deny the way his heart broke as he watched the lovers entwining in a secret kiss.

It was this thought that made Loki want to turn around, to leave this horrible, sickening forest and never know who the figure was. He was not sure he could face it and maybe, somehow, it might make the pain easier to bear, that not having to look the figure in the eyes in the future would make the memory fade. But he could not stop staring at Sif kissing the figure, her arms wrapping tighter around him as the kiss deepened. He could not stop himself from stepping closer, from circling around another tree, from needing to know who the mysterious man was who had captured the great shield maiden’s heart. He took a deep, steadying breath, swallowed nervously. He forced his magic back under control and took the last step around the final tree blocking his view. And froze in astonishment.

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_

_Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Sorry for a bit of a cliff hanger, but what can I say, I need to make sure you all come back and read more! ;-)_

_Anyway, more is definitely on it's way soon and I'd love to know what you think. Thanks for taking the time to read my story._


	6. Chapter 6

It took Loki several moments to even focus on what his eyes were seeing, to actually believe they were not playing tricks. For Sif was kissing _him_ , _Loki_. But that was impossible. She could not be kissing _him_. He was here, not tangled in Sif’s arms. And why would Sif be kissing _him_ anyway?

Yet from this angle, it was becoming impossible to deny what his eyes revealed to him. It was the same face he saw when he looked in the mirror, the same hair he spent far too long trying to enchant into straight locks, the same long fingers, now twisting in Sif’s thick, dark hair that he used to wield his magic. 

For far too long a moment, Loki stood transfixed, watching Sif kiss him. Watching the way she pressed herself so close to him, the way she tightened her arms and tipped her head and gently whispered his name in a soft moan. _Loki_ …

It was like watching a fantastical dream play out before him, one he had so carefully tried to suppress over the years. And for a moment Loki let himself live in this dream, this world where the beautiful warrior maiden Sif would kiss him, would actually care for him and return his affections. Let himself imagine what it would feel like to have her lips pressed so tightly against his, to have her fingers wrapped around his neck and her body flush against his…

But it was not a dream. It was reality and what was happening was impossible. Suddenly the sickening truth hit him. The dark sorcerer had already reached Sif. It was him she was kissing so fervently. A powerful shapeshifter, a dragon maybe, trying to seduce and lure its prey away. She was clearly enthralled by the dragon’s spell and must not know what she was doing. And Loki could feel the strength of the magic now, how it thickened and condensed around the two entwined figures, how it steeped them in a black, dense aura of power. It was strong enough to bring even Loki under its spell; to have disorientated him in the forest and to make it hard for him to concentrate. He could not even begin to imagine the effects it must be having on Sif, without her own magic to protect her.

He did not have time to question why this shapeshifter had taken _his_ form, before fear started to rush through him. It was not an emotion he was accustomed to, but this sorcerer was even more powerful than Loki could have ever imagined. He did not know how his own magic, so feeble in comparison, would be able to overcome it. His only power now lay in surprise, for he was certain his magic still concealed him and neither were aware of his presence.

The magic that had been simmering within him ever since he had first entered this evil forest finally began breaking free. It mixed with the jealousy that had consumed him before and remained within his heart. A jealousy and rage that now roared back into his consciousness, even stronger this time. For whoever this shapeshifter was, he had no right to kiss Sif like that, no right to pull Sif under his spell and trick her mind and body against her. Focusing all his might and power together, mixing it with all his fear and jealousy and longing, Loki cast the strongest magic he knew how to summon. With a sharp flick of his wrist, the magic that had been crackling and building in his palms shot forwards, a dazzlingly bright emerald beam that rushed past Sif and hit the sorcerer square in his face.

  

There was a sharp flash of light, so bright Sif could see it beneath her closed eyelids. It was followed by a tremendous crashing, hissing noise, the sudden stench of burnt flesh and the very ground seemed to quake beneath her feet. The force of the impact knocked Sif backwards, away from Loki and as she struggled to regain her balance, she opened her eyes wide. In the space of a pounding heartbeat, Sif saw the trees shaking around her, the very air flashing a deep emerald which seemed to engulf the entire forest in fierce green flames. Then, it was gone and Sif blinked, whipped her head around quickly, taking in her surroundings and instinctively falling into her battle stance.

It was like being awoken suddenly from a deep and pleasant dream. She was disorientated; her heart pounded, her breath came fast and shallow and her mind spun. But Sif knew she had not been dreaming, that she was still in this dark forest and she forced her eyes to turn towards Loki, feeling strangely embarrassed to face him now, after what they had just done. But as her eyes sought out the figure in front of her, she caught sight of a flash of green further away, deeper within the trees. Sif found herself looking into deep, emerald eyes, full of an intensity that seemed to pierce into her very soul. His gaze held hers for a moment that seemed to last a lifetime and Sif knew she was looking into the eyes of Loki himself. But that was impossible…

The realisation hit her immediately, but she was slow to turn to the figure in front of her, afraid to see his face and confirm the truth she knew she would find there. The face was still clearly Loki’s, but the eyes were different, their depths not reflecting back all the years of their strange friendship, all the intense emotions that consumed the bright emerald gaze of the one within the trees. Sif’s eyes glanced quickly between the two Loki’s, her heart thundering in her ears as the pieces of the puzzle slowly fell into place.

As if sensing the game was over, the features on the nearest face started to twist and distort. The brilliant green of his eyes discoloured into a pale, sickly yellow, feverishly bright with a magic that made Sif’s blood curdle. The smirk started to twist into a hideously large mouth, filled with sharp fangs the size of Sif’s fingers. Lips that had pressed so tenderly against hers were now a thick, putrid red, cracked and coarse. The pale, soft skin she had so gently caressed now turned a fetid yellow, blistered and blackened slightly where the green light had collided with it. The fingers that had tangled in her hair now grew into thick, sharp claws; the arms that had held her so tightly now stretched and deformed into large, scaly wings. The body, once so slender and warm, started to contort and grow, stretching up above her; the clothes disappearing and replaced with thick, jagged scales the colour of dried blood, rough and calloused like old leather.

Sif craned her neck upwards, motionless and frozen as the dragon reared above her, growing larger and taller by the second until it seemed to fill the whole clearing with its foul red mass. The bile began to rise up within Sif’s throat and she had just enough time to worry that not only had she been kissing a dragon impersonating Loki, but that Loki had actually caught her doing so. Then a mighty, thunderous roar shook the entire forest and vibrated through every bone in her body. The dragon opened its mouth wide in what appeared to be a twisted smirk and, with its sickly yellow eyes focused ferociously upon her, its giant, horned head and monstrous fangs suddenly swung down towards her.

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_Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I’d definitely love to know what you think. More chapters will be on their way soon!_


	7. Chapter 7

As the dragon lunged towards her, Sif instinctively reached for her sword, but her hands found no comforting metal to wield, her fingers no sword hilt to grasp. It was not there. The fool she was had left it back at camp, certain it would not be needed for her short visit to the forest. She did not have time to curse her mistake too deeply, for the sharp fangs, dripping with slime and saliva, were almost upon her, its sickly yellow eyes burning into hers. She had already lost precious time trying to reach for her sword and she could feel the dragon’s hot breath upon her skin, its stench of carrion and acrid flesh filling her senses. The smell was enough to turn her stomach and propel her into movement. She suddenly dropped down, into a crouch and immediately rolled sideways, just about managing to find a space beneath the giant beast’s wings. Her hands reached into her boot and pulled forth her hidden dagger. The cool metal was a welcome touch in her hands, the enchanted emeralds decorating the hilt a reassuring comfort as the magic seeped through into her veins.

She launched herself to her feet, spinning around to face the dragon, dagger held ready in attack. But she had underestimated the speed of this great beast, for already it had turned towards her and even now was charging across the clearing. She lunged forwards on her powerful, warrior legs and brought the dagger up ready. The large, muscular arm of the dragon swung towards her, its sharp claws seeking flesh, but Sif had already anticipated the attack. She used her momentum to twist her body around, leaning backwards and tipping her head as she jumped out of its path. She landed deftly on her feet closer to the beast and fixed her gaze on one of the hideous yellow eyes turned towards her. It was unprotected, a weak point and Sif narrowed her eyes, preparing to throw the dagger at her target.

Twisting her arm, and clutching the dagger tightly, Sif prepared to throw. She glared defiantly at the fierce dragon rearing above her, once more so close all she could breathe in was its foul stench. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the sudden blur of movement, but it was too late. The dragon’s long, spiked tail, hidden before from Sif’s sight, now swung round towards her. She tried to dodge its path, tried to jump nimbly out of harms way, but the great muscular tail was too large. It struck the side of her stomach and the force propelled her backwards. She just had time to bring her dagger down, but it merely glanced across the thick, impenetrable scales of its thick tail.

As Sif was flung across the clearing, the air whistling around her and stealing her breath, she tried to right her body, tried to find her footing and prepare herself to land. But the rough wood of a tree trunk halted her flight and Sif’s arms and legs were thrown backwards at painful angles. As her hand smashed into a low branch, her fingers tried to clutch desperately at the dagger, but it slipped from her grasp, landing with a crash several feet away. The force of the impact knocked all the breath out of her body and her ears rang with the blow. Her vision was momentarily cloudy and she had to blink several times to clear it. When she did, the first thing she saw was the hideous yellow eyes, piercing through the haze. Then, her eyes focused on the sharp fangs curved upwards and finally the great bulk of its head, surging towards her. Sif quickly brought her hand around but realised too late that she no longer held the dagger. Quickly, burying her face in her hands for protection, Sif tried to figure out her next move.

There was none. The heaving, scaly bulk of the dragon blocked her path forwards and sideways and at her back the tree still dug painfully into her spine. Without a weapon, she knew there was little she could do to defend herself. There was the option of gauging its eyes out with her fingernails, but the dragon’s mouth was already turned towards her, the eyes out of reach and the sharp fangs ready to pierce through skin. Sif was far from one to give up, but in that moment, her thoughts automatically began to chant the age old warrior's prayer for safe passage to Valhalla. She screwed her eyes shut and hoped that storytellers and musicians would see her final demise at the hands of such a great dragon worthy of a warrior’s death…

 

Loki had watched as Sif fought the dragon, remaining as still as possible as he called up all the ancient magic within this dark forest he could wield. Already he had exhausted much of his power in the initial blow and he needed time to recharge as much as he could. Time he did not have, not if he planned to save Sif and himself this night. If that was even possible. Already, he had seen the dragon recovering from the first attack, watched as it had contorted into its natural shape, its yellow eyes flashing as it lunged towards her. The spell had already been on his lips, his arms held out ready to cast at the final moment. But it had not been needed. Sif was no easy opponent to overcome and he had felt his breath rush out in a loud sigh of relief as she escaped the dragon’s teeth.

Loki trusted Sif, knew her might well on the battlefield and so he only watched her movements from the corner of his eye. Instead, he focused his attention on chanting the ancient spells of power, building the magic once more until it crackled in its intensity. He watched, calling more and more of the dark magic to him, waiting for the right moment to strike; when the dragon was at its weakest or Sif in the most danger. As he saw the dragon’s tail smash into her, he fought hard to contain his cry, to prevent the magic from raging forth. It was not enough. Not yet. So he could only watch in horror as her slender frame was smashed into the tree, the dagger thrown from her grip, leaving her defenceless.

He watched her try to crawl away, try to wield her empty hand. He watched her hands cover her face, her body shrink backwards in protection and fear. Every heartbeat was a fresh wave of pain, but still he held on. Still he let the magic build, feeding it with his agony at watching Sif be defeated, at the memory of how this cruel creature had already taunted her so this night. The magic built and built, the green flames flickering within his vision and crackling in his ears. He watched. He waited. He longed for the perfect moment to strike.

 

Suddenly a bright green flash appeared beneath Sif’s closed eyelids and the dragon's roar was so loud she had to cover her ears with her hands. Her eyes flickered open in shock and she felt a powerful gust of air as the dragon was thrown backwards against a nearby tree, the shock of impact so powerful Sif felt it vibrate through the very ground itself, the tree behind her back trembling with the blow and causing fresh waves of pain to sear through her nerves.

She ignored the pain and without a moments hesitation, Sif quickly acted; her battle instincts raging and her muscles growing taut, preparing for the fight. With a firm push from her hands she launched herself upwards, her footing sure and her stance strong. She quickly took in the sight around her, the small clearing lit by the ethereal light of magic, lined with trees and the thick blackness of the forest beyond. The dragon smashed into the tree, its trunk splintered and the canopy above toppling precariously. The smoke still billowing from the charred scales lining the dragon's belly and his great limbs lying twisted and tangled. Its head thrown backwards and its eyes looking upwards, mouth open wide so its teeth flashed in the magical light. And finally at Loki, his arms outstretched and still crackling and blazing with green flames. His eyes bright, feverish, distant, his lips moving silently, forming ancient spells as he drew to him all the magic he could command, already preparing for more.

The dragon was quick to recover and it pulled its head upwards, the sickly yellow eyes now turning towards Loki, its mouth twisting into a snarl as it sensed this new threat. Sif was all but forgotten as the dragon staggered to its feet, its muscular wings dropping to the floor with a crash as it lurched towards Loki. She saw his eyes widen, saw his wrists flick outwards, but before he could utter the enchantment to bring forth the magic building and simmering within him, the dragon opened his jaw wide, drew in a deep breath that seemed to steal the air from Sif's own lungs and released it in a blinding cascade of fire. The intense heat scorched the air around them, filling it with the charred stench of burnt wood and singed flesh. Sif threw her own arms across her face, protecting it from the burning heat and the dazzling flames. The force of it pushed her backwards and she lost her footing on a gnarled tree root. She stumbled, her arms now flailing wide, seeking balance as the heat scorched her skin. She managed to prevent her fall and forced her eyes open, blinking back the tears that the acidic, bitter smoke and heat drew forth.

A sudden, terrifying cry of agony filled the clearing, so fierce it seemed to have been wrenched up from Hel itself. The twisted, recognisable voice within called Sif's attention and she finally found the strength to turn towards him. Loki never had chance to wield his green magical flames again, for instead he had been granted no choice but to utter a spell for protection. Sif saw a field of green energy emanating from his hands, forming a shield around him and keeping the dragon’s fierce yellow flames at bay.

As Sif watched, she saw Loki’s arms begin to tremble, his back droop under the weight. His footsteps were forced backwards under the onslaught of the dragon’s fire and Sif could clearly see the lines of exhaustion distort his features. His mouth twisted into another cry of agony, before his jaw hardened and his teeth flashed into a snarl. He raised his arms higher, pushed back against the dragon’s assault and forced all the magic he could wield into the shield.

It was not enough. Still the dragon’s fire roared and the panic began flickering across his eyes. Sif quickly looked around her, twisting her head and seeking out the flash of flame glinting off metal. There was none. The dagger was lost to the thick undergrowth of the forest floor. She had no weapon, no way to fight this dragon. If she tried to attack now, those burning flames would turn upon her and, with no magic at her command, she knew she would never survive the onslaught. And so, as Sif watched, despite all her years of training and all the battles she had fought, there was nothing she could do to help.

In that moment, Sif was powerless. 


	8. Chapter 8

Sif looked helplessly into Loki's eyes, a thousand and one regrets spilling forth and consuming her, all the words she had longed to say for so long now choking her throat and making it hard to breathe. She tried to focus on what was happening, tried to force her mind through countless strategies, but each one proved more futile than the last. It was hopeless and she cursed herself for never telling Loki how she felt about him. Now, she never would have the chance…

Suddenly though, Sif saw Loki's eyes flicker momentarily towards her, his eyes narrowing in acknowledgement before glancing quickly out across the clearing. Instinctively, Sif followed his gaze and saw a flicker of green light, a flash of emeralds calling to her. It was gone in an instant, the attention of the caster drawn elsewhere, but it was enough. Without further thought, Sif lunged forwards, dropping down into a roll and ignoring the sharp pain the actions unleashed upon her burnt and battered flesh. Her hand now found the cool metal of the dagger and the enchanted emeralds were still warm to the touch. She clutched it tightly and an exuberant battle cry spilled from her lips. It called the dragon’s attention, but before the heat of its flames could fall upon her, she finished her roll so she was now under the enormous bulk of the great dragon. She lifted her head, the dagger held tightly within her fingers. With every muscle tense within her body, she thrust her arm upwards, under the great belly of the beast and into the charred flesh Loki had wounded earlier.

The dragon shrieked in agony, a piercing sound that echoed around the great forest and chilled Sif to her very soul. Immediately the roaring, blistering heat of flames ceased and only the stench of burnt wood and flesh remained. The legs of the great beast collapsed and the giant mass of the dragon crashed to the floor, aiming to crush its attacker. But Sif was too quick; already she had rolled out from under the giant beast, clutching the precious dagger tightly within her fingers. As she jumped up onto her feet, she risked a fleeting glance at Loki. He was doubled over in exhaustion and pain, his head bent and his hands clutching his stomach, as if about to be sick. The sight of him in so much agony was like a knife in her heart and Sif wanted to cry out, to run to him and cradle him in her arms. Her need to go to him, to comfort and protect him was almost enough to override even the warrior’s instinct forever simmering within her veins. As if sensing her intention, Loki lifted his head and caught her eye. The pain was clear within their emerald depths, but he had forced his lips into a small smirk, a faint echo of his usual mischievous grin. He nodded his head and Sif understood his intention perfectly. She nodded her own in acknowledgement and then forced her eyes back towards the great dragon in front of her.

Sif had its full attention now and as it pushed itself to its feet, the sickly yellow eyes were fixed on hers. They were ferocious, filled with pain and fury at being denied its prize. She reached up her arm, holding the dagger high, and tensed her muscles, preparing to strike. She expected the dragon to run towards her and attack, but it remained strangely motionless, as if watching her, weighing up its enemy. Then, it began to turn towards Loki, as if it knew Sif’s greatest weakness. And perhaps it did, for dragons were no lumbering trolls or brainless bilchsteims. They were shapeshifters, sorcerers, intelligent beasts almost as old as time itself. And this one had already found Sif’s weakness earlier, had used it to lead her into its trap, and only Loki had stopped it from succeeding.

And now it wanted revenge.

But this dragon had underestimated its prey, for Sif felt a hot, fierce fury fill her veins. This great beast had tricked her enough tonight and now it seemed determined to hurt what was most dear to her. And Sif was not about to let it. So as the great dragon started to lunge towards Loki, Sif let the fury take over and direct her battle trained instincts. She ran towards the dragon, hollering the battle cry of the Æsir in her rage. The dragon realised its mistake too late, for Sif did not run to protect Loki and instead brought her sharp dagger down in between the thick scales of the dragon’s legs, causing it to cry in pain and stumble forwards. She quickly aimed at its wings, ripping the thinner, muscular flesh between the tendons. Its giant head swung round towards her, but before it had time to release any more flames, Sif brought her dagger up into its throat, using the dragon’s own momentum to push it deep. In the corner of her eye she saw the flicker of movement as the dragon swung its arms towards her, the claws flashing in the eerie light. The dagger was lodged in too deep, Sif could not pull it free and had to release her hold as she threw her body backwards, avoiding the sharp claws which grazed against her neck, drawing blood. She righted herself quickly, reached up both arms to the hilt of the dagger and pulled. She could see the dragon’s giant tail now swinging towards her, its thick scales sweeping along the ground and the large spike at the tip aimed at her head. She had less than seconds to move, but she could not afford to lose the dagger again. She pulled, harder this time, felt the dagger begin to move, saw the spike loom closer…

The dagger finally slipped free and Sif dropped down, the spike whistling past her ear a scant inch away. Once more she fell into a roll, moving underneath the belly of the great beast. The moment she was clear of its bulk, she jumped upwards, wielding the dagger in her hands as she spun towards the dragon, ready to strike once more.

But Loki beat her too it. The sound of his throwing knives whistled through the air and struck deep where they met yielding flesh. He watched as one found its target, disappearing into the exposed neck of the dragon and sliding between the scales with perfect precision. It sunk in deep and lodged itself in the dragon’s throat, preventing it from breathing fire. The second fell short; a few inches from its target, glancing off the dragon's thick eyelids and only sinking shallowly into the flesh there. He cursed his foolish mistake and what it would cost them. He had only one knife left, which he shifted in his hands as he tried to deduce the next place to strike. His aim was not what it should be, his arms tired from the magic he had wielded this night. Usually it flowed within him, the magic sending the knife perfectly to its target. But he had no magic left now; it had all been used in fighting the dragon and then healing himself enough so he could fight on. And though his aim was excellent even without the use of magic, he could not afford to miss again. So he trained his eye on the fierce yellow ones of the dragon, which had turned towards him now. He pulled back his arm, quickly calculated the speed he could achieve with his weakened muscles, shifted his aim to compensate and threw the dagger. All three pairs of eyes watched as it raced towards its target, shining like a green torch as it reflected the strange, ethereal light still illuminating the clearing. It found its target and sunk in deep, blinding one eye of the dragon.

It threw its head backwards in agony and screamed loud and long, a shriek from the very depths of Hel itself. It pierced through Sif’s ears and momentarily distracted her. But then Sif saw her opening, calculated her next move and acted automatically. Before the dragon had chance to retaliate against Loki, Sif ran towards it. As she approached, she pushed down with all her strength, building the power in her legs before launching herself upwards, towards the dragon's face. It swept out a clawed hand towards her, its aim sloppy in its pain, but Sif had already calculated the movement and swung her hand towards it, the sharp dagger slashing through the thin scales lining his wrists. She continued on in her jump, kicking out with her foot and aiming for the knife near its eyebrow. Her strike proved true and the knife was pushed downwards, digging into the sickly yellow flesh of its eye. As the dragon’s shriek increased in agony and filled her ears, she completed her move with a somersault backwards and landed with a jarring thud on the forest ground. The force of the impact jolted her already injured body and the pain momentarily distracted her, causing her foot to slip on a pile of leaves and she stumbled backwards. She was quick to find her footing though and this time she did not lose the precious dagger. She held it high, flung her hair back from around her face and faced the dragon with a scowl. But the dragon was not rearing above her now, poised to strike. It was clutching the two knives embedded deep within its eyes. Its head tossed backwards and forwards in agony and confusion, its large spiked tail thrashing around the clearing as the giant beast spun around, trying to seek out its attackers in its blindness.

Sif watched for several moments, keeping her distance as the great beast withered in agony and its shrieks of pain turned Sif's stomach. She had fought many dangerous beasts in her adventures with the two princes and the Warriors Three, many a time had felt her sword sink into the flesh of her enemies. And this beast especially had earned her wrath, tricking her, luring her to her death disguised as Loki and now attacking them both. Yet a strange sense of pity for this helpless creature filled her thoughts then. Try as she might, she could not help but remember when it had held a different form, one so dear to her. The fleeting memory of its whispered words, its warm closeness and its gentle kisses echoed through her mind. And now, though in its hideous true form, the memories haunted her and its shrieks of agony pierced her heart, confusing her. A killing blow would be the kindest, but Sif did not know where to strike to end the beast’s suffering.

Her concerns were short lived though, for a moment later the great beast caught hold of the small knives in its clumsy claws and wrenched them out. There was a flash of sickly yellow light and once more the dragon’s eyes focused upon them, its sight now magically restored. It released a booming roar full of bloodthirsty rage, so powerful the earth began to quake beneath her feet, catching Sif off her guard. A moment later it threw the knives back at its attackers. It happened so quickly, was so unexpected, that it was only Sif’s natural instincts and carefully honed reflexes that saved her life. As she jumped out of the way, the knife grazed her arm and the sharp pain from the wound made her cry out. She had little time to examine the damage, for a moment later the dragon’s tail once more swung towards her and she had to quickly throw herself backwards to avoid impact. As she moved, she flung our her arm wielding the dagger, but it merely glanced off the thick scales of the dragon’s great tail and continued to swing around the forest, seeking its next target.

“Loki!” Sif cried out, but even as he turned towards her and heeded her warning, they both knew it was too late.

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_Thanks for reading and I hope you're still enjoying the story. More chapters are on their way._

_Oh and in case you're wondering what a bilchsteim is, it's what Thor talks to Agent Coulson about in the Avengers, and I couldn't resist mentioning it here!_


	9. Chapter 9

Loki had been distracted. He had easily dodged the knife the dragon had thrown back at him, jumping aside as it whistled past him and became embedded within a tree. Seeing the dragon's attention turned once again towards Sif, and knowing they were powerless with no weapons, he had rushed backwards to wrench it from the thick trunk. At Sif's cry, he had quickly turned back towards the dragon, holding the knife ready to throw once more. It was only then that he had caught sight of the movement, and it had been too late.

He managed to drop his head in time, the sharp spike at the tail's end just brushing through his hair and grazing his scalp. But the thick, scaly bulk of the tail was not far behind. There was nowhere for Loki to move and it rammed into him and propelled him backwards across the clearing. He had just enough time and just enough magic to utter a protective spell before his back crashed into a tree and all the breath was knocked out of him. His neck was jarred backwards and his head smashed into the trunk, his limbs twisting at painful angles.

He blinked several times, clearing away the haze from his vision and the pain in his head. The magic had managed to cushion the worst of the impact though and the throwing knife still remained clutched tightly in his hand. He stood up slowly, struggling to find his footing and balance. His eyes sought out the dragon and he threw the knife. His aim was poor from his most recent injuries, but it served its purpose. As it glanced off the thick scales on its hind, the dragon's attention once more focused on him. It quickly lunged towards him and Loki desperately tried to calculate his next move.

He was out of options and weapons and even as his lips fervently whispered as many defensive spells as he could, there was not enough magic left within him to cast. His only chance now was Sif, but he hoped she would make a run for it, maybe even go to find Thor and the Warriors Three. Perhaps they, together, could succeed where he had failed. Maybe they would even flee this sinister forest, return to Asgard whilst they had the chance. His buffoon of a brother would no doubt aim to conquer the great beast, but perhaps Hogun or Volstagg could instil some sense into him. If they were all safe, if he knew she was safe, then perhaps his death would not have been in vain. Perhaps he could go to Hel in peace.

Loki glanced towards her; saw her hesitating as she looked between him and the dragon rapidly approaching. “Sif! Run!” He managed to cry out, his voice croaky though he knew she heard him clearly enough. She glanced towards him, shook her head firmly then turned away. Loki cursed loudly, shouted at her again to run, though he was not surprised when she still did not comply. The great Shieldmaiden Lady Sif would never abandon a fight and leave a fallen comrade, no matter what it may cost her. But he could spare her no more attention, for the dragon was looming above him now, its claws digging out the knife Loki had impaled in its throat earlier. It threw the knife towards him and, with his body still weak from its impact with the tree, he knew he would not be able to move out of the way in time. This close, the dragon's aim would be perfect.

It all happened within the space of a heartbeat and Sif found her feet moving even before her mind could comprehend what was happening. She would call it battle instinct, only it went against everything she had ever been taught, everything she had ever been trained to do. Rather than watch for her own safety, rather than focus on her enemy and deduce its next move, she rushed towards Loki. Her eyes quickly took in the knife's trajectory, saw the target become Loki's heart, watched Loki move and knew it would not be quick enough.

“Loki!” She cried out, half in warning, half in panic, before she threw her body against his and sent them both crashing to the ground. The knife flew past them, brushing against her leg, but thankfully the only damage it did was rip the fabric of her trousers. She sat up quickly, her body half still on Loki's, and quickly aimed her own dagger at the dragon looming above them. She threw it hard and, despite her poor aim, it found purchase square between its eyes, the magic in the enchanted emeralds glowing brightly as Loki tracked its movements. It was no deadly blow, but it would slow the dragon down momentarily and buy them time. And at the moment, that was all they could ask for.

“Sif, you idiot,” Loki muttered as he pushed her off him, sitting up slowly, his body tired from all the injuries he had sustained this night. “You should have run whilst you had the chance!”

“And have your brother forever lamenting over your death and everyone thinking me a coward? I would sooner go to my own death!” The excuse flowed quickly off her tongue and Sif was glad of it, for the many other things she longed to say were heavy on her mind. She quickly turned away from Loki before he could read the truth in her eyes and stood up, once more focused on the dragon in front of her.

Already it was recovering from its recent wound and its claws were grappling at the knife embedded in its face. Sif watched as the great beast pulled it free and threw it backwards, far away from its enemies. A flash of yellow light and the foul stench of magic and carrion filled air and suddenly the thick green slime dripping between its eyes vanished, the wound magically healed. Sif cursed under her breath, for how could they defeat a beast so quick to heal, so hard to injure?

The dragon started moving towards them again, but its movements were slow, deliberate now. A predator toying with its prey, its victory secured.

“I think you may get your wish, Sif,” Loki muttered, standing up beside her.

Sif glanced at him, her expression defensive and somewhat angry, effortlessly slipping into the usual animosity that existed between them. It was far easier to pretend than risk the truth spilling forth. For even now, after all that had happened this night, Sif found herself unable to tell Loki how she felt about him. If it was not for the dire situation they found themselves in, Sif would have laughed. She was unafraid to face and fight this ferocious dragon, yet telling her childhood friend she cared about him scared her witless. “Well, now would be a great time for one of your clever tricks to get us out of this mess,” Sif threw back at him instead.

Despite the hostility between them, they instinctively drew closer together, forming a defensive wall as they faced their enemy. They had no weapons left and the dragon was circling them now, slowly moving nearer as it continued playing with its prey.

“You are the great warrior maiden, Sif. Why do you not think of something!”

“There are not a lot of dragons around in Asgard for us to practice slaying, Loki,” Sif called back at him indignantly. “And are you not the famous silvertongued trickster, the one the bards say is able to escape any trap.”

“What do you want me to do? Try and talk it into not killing us?” Loki retorted, shaking his head. When Sif continued to glare at him in scorn and reprobation, Loki continued resentfully, “And was it not you who got us into this mess, Sif?”

It took Sif a moment to answer, remembering all to well how she had found herself in this predicament. How the shapeshifter had taken Loki's form, tricked her and led her astray, deep into the forest. How she had so willingly followed him, even kissed him in its disguise. But she quickly swallowed those memories down, not allowing Loki to see anything other than annoyance in her eyes. Her hands may have been clenching nervously at her sides, but her voice was steady and angry as she replied, “If I were you, Loki, I would never speak of that. Not unless you want me to fight both you and the dragon.”

“I think not even your great battle prowess could fight me and the dragon at the same time Sif. Certainly not when you have no weapon.”

“As you have no weapon either, Loki, I would not try and test that theory.”

Before Loki had chance to retort, the dragon suddenly roared, the sound echoing around the clearing and chilling Sif to the core. The very earth beneath her feet quaked with its might and the ethereal light illuminating the clearing flickered in its power, disorientating Sif's vision. She clenched her fingers tightly together, longing for the feel of steel in her hand.

“Would now be a good time to ask what dragons like to do with their prey?" Sif asked, eager for some sort of distraction as it continued to circle in towards them. She was used to her enemies attacking quickly, the clash of metal and the whirl of speed as she dodged their attacks. This foe seemed determined to taunt them now and she was growing increasingly anxious of just what this dragon had planned.

“Well, usually they try and lure the prey to their lair, then eat them. But this dragon seems to be rather annoyed right now.” Loki flashed her a menacing grin, but Sif just rolled her eyes at Loki's theatricals. “So it may just choose to eat us here.”

“Sounds delightful,” Sif muttered back, determined to not let Loki hear the fear creep into her voice.

“I am sure it will be, for the dragon anyway.”

Sif did not bother to respond, for the dragon was almost upon them now, its eyes flashing with triumph and its hideous mouth twisted into what vaguely resembled a smirk. As its great fangs and yellow eyes reared above them, they instinctively raised their arms to shield themselves and each other, expecting it to strike. But the dragon had another trick up its sleeve and opened its mouth wide, stealing all the air around them as it prepared to attack. With Loki's knife no longer embedded within its throat, Sif realised too late it was able to breathe fire once more. Without thinking, she felt herself reach out and grasp Loki's hand, entwining his fingers around her own. It was only a small gesture, but when Loki did not recoil and when what little magic he had left flowed into her, it gave Sif the strength to turn towards the dragon and face her imminent death with a Warriors pride.

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_Thanks for reading and I hope your still enjoying the story. More chapters are on their way soon!_


	10. Chapter 10

_Thanks for still reading and massive apologies for the wait – real life has been so hectic for me I haven’t had much chance to write. Hopefully I’ll find the time to catch up with all my Loki/Sif stories very soon._

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Even with her fierce, warrior’s pride running through her veins, Sif was unable to prevent her eyes from instinctively squeezing shut as the dragon’s flames erupted around her. Bright flashes of red and yellow, orange and white danced beneath her eyelids and her ears were filled with a deafening roar. The blazing air crackled and snapped, stealing the breath from her lungs, the thick, acidic smoke choking her. The intense heat was suffocating, prickling her skin and stealing her strength. Yet her skin did not burn and she opened her eyes cautiously, blinking back the blinding smoke and stinging tears. Surrounding her, she saw the weak, emerald light pushing back the flames; a thin shield protecting them both from the full onslaught of the dragon’s wrath. It flickered, weakened and a quick glance at the strain etched upon Loki’s features told her it would not last long. Already the heat was growing in intensity, pushing at the barrier and starting to scorch her skin. She crushed Loki’s hand in her fingers, clutching tightly. The emerald shield flickered brighter then, the blistering heat dissipating slightly. Sif strengthened her grip and forced whatever strength and will power she still had into that hold. She had no idea if it would help, but she would do anything to give them just a few more precious seconds in this life.

In these last few moments remaining, Sif knew she should say something to Loki. That here, at the end of all things, she should finally admit the truth. But the words still failed her, as they had for countless centuries. And even if she could find the words, her mouth was too scorched from the bitter smoke and intense heat, her lungs starved of air as the flames consumed all they could. Instead she just grasped Loki’s hand tighter, trying to put into the hold what she could not put into words. Maybe, together with all he had witnessed this night, Loki would finally understand what he meant to her.

Sif knew they would not have long; Loki’s weight was already sagging into hers and her own strength was ebbing away fast. The faint green shield was barely discernable now and the flames pouring all around them were not lessening in their own intensity. She squeezed her eyes shut as their potency grew, still seeing the vivid colours of the flames, beautiful in their own lethal way as they danced around her, growing brighter and brighter before her.

 

Loki felt the intense heat start to burn his skin, his shield growing weaker as his magic was quickly exhausted. Yet even now, his mind was fervently sifting through the possibilities, following every potential course and searching in vein for any chance to save them. He wondered if there was some way he could at least protect Sif, for her safety was all that really mattered now. But even as he quickly filtered through every plan his mind could conceive, he knew it was impossible. If he forced the focus of the magic onto Sif, made the shield stronger around her, it would only weaken himself sooner, and then what hope was there for Sif? The dragon would not leave her alone, not now. And he could not deny how much he was relying on her strength, her back supporting his weakened body and her hand holding his, giving him a reason to keep fighting.

But it was too late now. His shield was flickering ever weaker by the second and the dragon’s eyes were growing in ferocity. Loki shut his own eyes against its cruel, strangely taunting gaze and the blinding flames. The magic still flowed out of him, the spell spilling from his lips and his hand clutching tighter to Sif's. Part of him wondered what she would make of all this, if she might understand what it meant to him. If she knew the effect what he had witnessed earlier still had upon him. But it did not matter. In a scant few moments his shield would give out completely and then what hope was there for them? Not much, Loki thought, but was that not the same as it had ever been? And perhaps there were worst ways to leave this realm. In this moment he could at least pretend Sif’s hand entwined with his was more than desperation and fear. And at least it would be quick, Loki mused as he poured the very last ounce of his weak magic into the shield as it flickered out of existence.

 

A sudden whistling sound filled the clearing, a shrill vibrating loud enough to be heard even above the cacophonous sound of the dragon’s flames. It was a noise vividly familiar to Loki and Sif and both opened their eyes wide in surprise. It took several moments for them to clear the acrid smoke and salty tears from their eyes, before they could even make out the scene enfolding before them. The first thing they were aware of was that the flames had stopped. Only the vivid after image of the bright red and yellow flames danced before their eyes. Their skin still prickled, burning with the heat though its intensity had gone. Then, there was a deafening crash, painfully loud to their abused ears. Their eyes followed the sound and saw the damage before they realised the cause. Five trees had been ripped from the ground and lay inverted, their roots forming macabre silhouettes against the sickly yellow light still illuminating the clearing. Several surrounding trees were snapped in half, yet more shaking unsteadily, their heavy boughs swaying precariously as the trees fought to remain upright.

The dragon lay amongst the wreckage, his long tail crashing through more trees as it slowly stilled. Its scaly back was embedded in the thick trunk of another, its form bent double from the impact and the branches hanging down like a cage over the dragon’s now motionless form. Its head lolled downwards, its sickly yellow eyes empty and its mouth twisted in a grimace of surprise. Its huge head was dented on one side and a moment later Mjölnir once more came spinning through the air. Their eyes tracked it through the slowly dissipating smoke and saw it land in the outstretched hand of its wielder. Thor.

Many a time had the first prince come to her aid in battle, but Sif had never known such sudden, overwhelming relief. It rushed through her veins and stole what little strength she had left. Her muscles collapsed and she fell against the supporting weight of Loki. His own strength gave in at the same moment and they both fell to the floor in a tangle of twisted, intertwined limbs.

“How fare you, brother? Sif?” Thor’s concerned voiced filled the clearing as he started to move towards them, ready to help. He reached a hand towards Loki, offering his assistance. The Warriors Three followed behind, their own eyes anxiously surveying the damage to the clearing, the great beast immobile against the trees and their two friends, lying in a heap on the floor, surrounded by a faint, flickering green light.

“We fare well, Thor! No thanks to you!” Loki retorted, waving Thor’s outstretched arm away and fighting back a cough as his throat stung in the thick, acrid smoke. He quickly pushed Sif off him and stood up to his face his brother. Every muscle within his aching body protested the movement, but pride overran the pain and he was determined to maintain his dignity before his older brother and his friends. His irritation helped to overcome the tiredness in his bones and he managed to stand without shaking or support. He was grateful to his brother, he had just saved their lives after all and Loki could not fault that. Yet he resented the fact that once again _Thor_ had saved the day with his superior weapon Mjölnir and that Loki had even needed the help. He hated to think how much Thor would talk about saving his weaker younger brother from a fierce dragon, and how the story would become ever more embellished with every retelling.

Sif immediately followed, her own pride overcoming her injuries as she stood up tall, facing her friends. She was careful to ensure there was a good distant between her and Loki, already anxious that they might suspect something amiss. Even though her skin was still prickling from the intense heat of the flames, her fingertips felt cold now, empty. She clenched them tightly at her sides, trying to ignore the lingering touch of Loki’s fingertips and forced the foolish thoughts away.

After he had ascertained that his brother and friend were relatively safe, Thor's boisterous laughter suddenly echoed around the clearing, the overwhelming cheer belying the undercurrent of worry he had been harbouring not moments before. “Of that I am not sure, brother, for it looks like we arrived just in time!” He jovially slapped Loki around the back and Loki did his best to hide the sudden wince of pain.

“Rather late in the day I would say. You have missed most of the fight, brother. The hard work had already been done.” Loki tried to keep his voice light, teasing, but the words came out harsher than he intended.

“How did you find us?” Sif asked, stepping towards the crown prince and trying to turn the conversation away from the tension simmering within Loki. She knew well enough Loki’s gratitude towards his brother, but Sif also recognised the bitter tone edging his voice and she knew its potential to feed the resentment sometimes festering within him against his older brother. Sif’s own forbearance was much too strained by all they had been through this night and she had not the patience to see Loki’s sullenness grow further.  

“We followed the sound of all the noise!” Fandral answered, his voice merry and seemingly unaware of any mounting tension between the brothers. “The dragon was making the most ferocious racket that I am sure all of Svartalfheim could hear it!”

“It must surely have been loud to have woken you four from your beds!” Sif smiled at them, her voice too cheerful but she did not care. The relief was still flooding through her veins and she would have hugged each one of them had her fierce pride not condoned it.

“We are always ready to fight!” Volstagg answered, feigning offence.

“Aye! Except when you have too much good food and too much good ale!” Sif replied teasingly.

“What were you two doing out in the forest?” Hogun suddenly asked, his rarity with speaking and voice graver than usual drawing all of their attention.

Sif looked quickly at Loki, suddenly feeling immensely embarrassed and ashamed at what had happened. A suitable explanation caught in her throat and she was unable to speak.

“I do not know what Sif was doing out here, but I sensed the dragon’s magic and followed, hoping to seek a mighty prize for our return to Asgard.”

Sif’s relief at Loki’s swift response was quickly turned into annoyance and she answered back defensively, “I was merely taking care business when the dragon came and attacked me!” Sif’s hand clenched tightly at her sides, protesting the lies she told and her guilt made her quickly add, “Luckily, Loki found me before the dragon had caused any harm.”

“But why are you so deep within the forest?” Hogun probed, his voice surprisingly suspicious and Sif looked at him in alarm, wondering what he was insinuating and what he might suspect.

“The dragon’s magic was strong; it must have led Sif astray, as it did myself.” Loki added, his voice so perfectly calm and his words so credible that had Sif not known better, she would have believed them to be true. “The dragon’s attention must have been too divided in the fight and his magic weakened, allowing you to find us.”

“And thank goodness we did, for you were both nearly burnt to a crisp!” Volstagg added, his voice light hearted though he was less adept at clouding his earlier concern than his friends.

“Indeed, and for that we are grateful,” Sif added, throwing Loki a reproaching look lest he decide to contradict the claim. “We fought the dragon bravely, but its might was too powerful for us to conquer.” Her voice was strong as she spoke. Sif had her fierce warriors pride, no one here would ever refute it, but her friends had saved her life, saved her from her own foolish folly, and Sif found no shame in admitting her gratitude for that. Her own shame lay only in her weakness of the heart and mind, not in her strength and battle prowess.

“Well brother, I hope you have learnt your lesson and you do not try seeking out such a prize on your own again.” Thor reprimanded Loki. His words and voice may have been curt, patronising, but all here knew the concern and affection Thor held for his brother and the reason for the command.

Sif was well aware that Loki knew it too and it helped still his own tongue. Though the quick look he threw in her direction made her realise the deeper reason behind his actions. He was covering for her and Sif felt yet more weight on the burden she owed Loki for his help this night. Especially considering how much further it went than just her own ability as a warrior to protect herself.

Instead Loki just rolled his eyes and looked out across the clearing towards the wreckage. In their chatter, the giant dragon had gone unnoticed and as Loki looked closer, he instinctively stepped backwards, away from the beast. “I think you may have to hold your own words, Thor. It seems the dragon is too strong even for the might of the great Thor and Mjölnir.” Loki’s voice may have been mocking, somewhat pleased with himself, but he deeply wished there was no occasion for it. As resentful as he may be, he would have gladly traded several millennia of mocking from Thor to the sight he saw before them now.

The dragon had not been still for long. With its enemy distracted, it had surreptitiously wielded its magic, healing its wounds until it was now able to stand once again. The six Asgardians turned towards it slowly, their faces growing pale as they stepped backwards and closer together, away from the great beast that was slowly starting to move towards them.

“You might be needing this,” Fandral shouted, before throwing Sif her sword. She caught it deftly, the cool metal of the hilt feeling like a second skin in her grasp. Clutching it tightly, she turned around with her friends as they prepared to fight the great dragon looming over them once more.

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_I hope you enjoyed the chapter and that you come back to read more. As ever I would love to know what you think._

_As for the mild cliffhanger – well, you didn’t think it would be that easy for them to kill the dragon, did you?;-)_


	11. Chapter 11

As the fierce dragon approached them, Thor was the first to act. He threw Mjölnir at the great beast and his aim was near perfect. It charged through the air and the ancient carvings etched within its surface shimmered in the eerie light illuminating the clearing. It struck the dragon on its brow, knocking it backwards several feet, but the dragon had seen the attack coming and had braced itself against the full power of the hammer. Its sharp claws sunk deep into the earth and its wings widened, keeping itself balanced and away from the dangerous wreckage of trees behind it. The magical hammer returned swiftly towards its wielder and Thor already held his arm back, ready for another attack. The moment the hammer reached his hand, he threw it once again at the beast. But the dragon was a fast learner. Its sickly yellow eyes tracked the movement of the hammer and as it came closer towards its head, it quickly brought its strong, thick tail around to intercept the weapon. There was a deafening crash as the hammer collided with the spiked tip of the dragon’s tail and was knocked off course. It went through the trunks of five thick trees before Thor could summon the hammer back, each toppling over and adding to the macabre destruction of broken tree limbs littering the clearing.

Immediately, Thor tried again, throwing his prize weapon with all his strength at the dragon in front of them. It brought down at least twice as many trees before it returned to Thor, the dragon knocking it aside now as if it were a mere training weapon. Thor’s roar was almost as loud as that of the dragons as he tried once more to throw Mjölnir at their enemy. His anger and frustration were poured into the strike and it flew towards the dragon so fast not even Loki could follow its movements. But the dragon again was ready. This time, it knocked Mjölnir back towards them, sending the powerful hammer spinning out of control and the Asgardians barely had chance to jump out of its path. It had already decimated several more trees behind them before Thor was able to bring it under control and once again within his grasp.

The other Asgardians had watched, their own weapons held out ready and waiting for their chance to join the fight. Seeing his brother about to throw the weapon once more at the dragon though, Loki quickly intervened, “I do not think it is working, brother!”

Thor glared briefly at Loki, bringing his arm further back and preparing for an even mightier throw. It was incredibly rare that his weapon failed him and he had grown too dependent upon it to give up so easily.

“Thor!” Sif shouted, “Loki is right!”

“You are only making it worse, brother!” Loki hissed.

Thor looked between his brother and friend, at the dragon snarling at them and at the pile of broken trunks and twisted roots lying all around before he nodded and dropped his hand. “Then we shall do this the old fashioned way!” He glanced back towards his friends, “Are you with me?”

“We never actually left you, Thor,” Loki replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes at his brother’s theatricals. Thor ignored him and raised his hand high, Mjölnir flashing in the eerie light and calling his friends to arms.

“We have faced worst foes.” Fandral replied lightly, smiling at them all before turning his attention back towards the great beast.

“Indeed, it is not anywhere near as big as that troll we brought down in Nidavellir.” Volstagg agreed, his voice as carefree.

“I do not think we should underestimate this foe.” Hogun warned, his voice graver than usual.

“You worry so, Hogun. This beast looks easy enough to kill.” Fandral smiled at them all again, holding his sword loosely in his hands.

“But its strength outmatched Mjölnir,” Thor muttered, uncharacteristically sullen and quiet. Though his face was brave, fierce and every inch a warrior of Asgard, he sounded unsure and that was a rare thing for Thor in any fight. Sif glanced at him anxiously; saw the way he clutched tightly to his weapon and shifted slightly on his feet. His unease contradicted his outward confidence and the fact that even the great God of Thunder was troubled made Sif nervous. And there was little she could do or say to placate her friend’s worry. Too many times had the great beast tricked and defeated her this night, too close had she come to dying at its hands.

“Aye!” Sif agreed, her tone serious as she tried to warn her friends. “It is no ordinary beast, Fandral. Do you not think myself and Loki could defeat it if it was?” She glared at the blond Æsir, challenging him to try and contradict her and her battle prowess. Fandral knew better than to rise to the bait and Sif continued, glancing again at the dragon, “See how it watches us, Fandral, waiting for the right moment to attack.”

At her words, the Asgardians all focused their attention again on the great beast. It had been studying them silently, recovering from Mjölnir’s blows and maintaining its distance, measuring up these new threats. Already it looked confident, arrogant and, seeing it once more held their focus, it began to slowly stalk towards them.

“It has magic. It will not be easily defeated.” Loki glared at his friends in caution, backing away as they all did as the great beast approached. He had been distracted from much of their conversation, anxiously searching the undergrowth for his throwing knives. He knew well enough what the dragon was planning, saw its deep, measured breathing and smug expression; it was preparing to breath fire once more and they would not have much time. “Has anyone seen my knives?”

“Loki! I do not think now is the time for any silly….” Thor began, but Loki quickly cut him off.

“Where are my knives?”

Sif caught the urgency in Loki’s voice and quickly began scanning the clearing.

“Is it really necessary…” Fandral began.

“Shut up and look for them,” Sif snapped back. She remembered all too well the painful, searing heat of the dragon’s flames and knew Loki’s knives would be their only chance. And she did not have time to explain. “The dagger, Loki, can you use that.”

Loki nodded and she saw his lips move in a quick spell. Almost immediately, a bright flash of emerald light glimmered briefly in the undergrowth. The dragon saw it too, its eyes quickly turning towards this new threat. It was on the other side of the beast, lying in the middle of a fallen tree, the roots forming a prison around the weapon.

“Cover me!” Sif shouted at her friends, before she began to walk carefully towards the dragon, skirting around the edge of the clearing.

“Sif, wait!” Loki shouted after her, starting to follow.

Sif glared at him and shook her head. She was far closer to the fallen dagger and far better armed to defend herself. She continued forwards, sparing the second prince no more attention. She had to find the dagger.

“But why do we…” Volstagg started to ask.

“The dragon breathes fire!” Loki shouted back, annoyance pouring into his voice. Loki knew there was little time to explain, but he had to make them understand if he wanted their assistance. “Only a short blade lodged deep in its throat will stop it!”

“Ah,” Fandral, Thor and Volstagg replied in unison, their confused, slightly irritated expressions softening into understanding. Hogun just nodded, his mace already held ready in his hands, the spikes extended and glistening in the unnatural light.

“So, unless you would like to be burnt to a cinder, I suggest we try and help Sif.” Loki’s voice was somewhat dripping in scorn, but it was still enough of a rallying call to his comrades. They glanced quickly at Sif before focusing again on the enemy before them. She was heading slowly around the clearing, the dragon watching her every move as she approached cautiously. The beast was wary and Loki could see it begin to move towards her, its mouth opening, ready to release an eruption of scorching yellow flames.

The other Asgardians saw it too and they suddenly all charged as one towards the great beast, century’s worth of battles fought and won flooding through their veins and commanding their instincts. Long had they fought together in a group and now each took their place in attacking the great beast and distracting its attention away from Sif.

“Aim for the weak points!” Loki shouted as they lunged towards it, “The legs and wings and between the scales.”

The dragon’s attention quickly turned towards them, but it was too late for it to attack. Thor brought his hammer up towards the dragon’s face, catching it squarely across its neck and knocking its great head upwards so the flames were released high above them. The heat still scorched their skin, but they were unperturbed and continued their attack. The spikes on Hogun’s mace sunk deep into the front leg of the dragon, causing it to tilt off balance and still its movements. Hogun wasted no time and brought his mace down upon its other front leg, weakening it further. Fandral’s sword aimed for the dragon’s wings, the blade stripping through the thinner skin between its muscle and sinew. As the dragon brought its claws around towards his attacker, Fandral was quick to retreat and easily slipped away, aiming for its second set of wings. The sharp blade of Volstagg’s axe hacked into the thick skin around the dragon’s chest, sliding it skilfully between the scales so it pierced the flesh and further weakened the great beast. It whirled around the clearing, its body withering in agony as the Asgardians attacked. Its roars of pain echoed around the clearing and reverberated through the veins of each of them. The noise was horrific, but still they fought on, weakening the beast and distracting it as best they could.

Without his own weapon, there was little Loki himself could do, but he carefully dodged the swings of the dragon’s arms and used what little magic he had strength left to wield to rain a serious of blasts at the dragon. They caused little pain, but they helped to keep the dragon distracted. His main focus was on that of his comrades and he issued instructions as they fought. “Aim for its head, Thor!” Loki shouted at his brother as the dragon lurched forwards. “Hogun, try and take out his back legs.” His friend nodded and slipped around the great beast, aiming his mace at the hind legs. “Fandral, Volstagg!” Loki shouted, “The gaps between the scales on its arms, aim for those.”

His friends followed his instructions and Loki was glad they had finally chosen to listen to him. He had already fought this beast and knew its weak points well by now. He also knew its strengths and knew that though their blows were fierce and vicious, it would not be enough. They had only been attacking it a few minutes and already it was learning their tricks and techniques, deflecting Hogun’s mace and Volstagg’s axe, catching hold of Fandral’s sword and trying to wrestle it from his grasp. Even Mjölnir was unable to keep the dragon at bay, each blow from Thor only stopping it momentarily.

Loki knew he had to find his knives or Sif’s dagger if they ever wanted to defeat this great dragon. He risked a brief glance at the shield maiden; saw her still trying to find her way past the great bulk of the dragon so she could reach the dagger. Her eyes were searching anxiously across the wreckage of trees, looking once more for a sight of the precious weapon. The words of the spell whispered once more from his lips and he saw the enchanted emeralds within the dagger’s hilt glowing briefly again, saw Sif once more focusing on it and memorising its correct position. He wanted to help her, to run to her aid and find the dagger, or at least keep it glowing brightly. But he had too little strength and magic left, no weapons left to attack or defend with. His only hope now lay in keeping the dragon distracted so he quickly turned his attention back to his comrades.

It was a moment too late. He saw the great tail come hurtling towards them and his cry of warning was lost in the cacophonous noise of the fight. They had been too absorbed in the attack; they did not hear his cry or see the great mass of thick muscles and scales swinging closer. It struck each of them in turn, its great bulk circling around the length of its body. First it hit Hogun, knocking his mace across the clearing and stopping his blow from reaching the hind legs of the beast. Then Fandral and Volstagg were knocked by the huge tail, the sword and axe left buried deep within the dragon’s flesh. Only Thor, with his magical connection to Mjölnir could keep hold of his weapon as he was struck last, before he ever had chance to realise the fate of his friends.

The blow sent them all careering backwards across the empty space of the clearing, only stopping when they collided with the torn trunks and broken branches of the trees. Their boughs gave up the fight and crashed down towards the Asgardians, trapping them within their fallen branches and inflicting yet more injuries on their prisoners, as if in retaliation for the destruction they had brought this night.

Only Loki was spared; his own experience in fighting this dragon and his natural fighting strategies of deflection and evasion meaning his reflexes were quicker than those of his friends. Even so, he had only just managed to escape the path of the dragon’s tail and now he looked at his friends and brother in shock. They were moving slowly, clumsily, their gazes unfocused and unaware of the danger now facing them. For the dragon wasted little time. No longer distracted, it once more focused its energy on its chest, drawing in the air around the clearing in a deep breath, before opening its mouth wide, fangs dripping in saliva and blood as it prepared to release its deadly flames once more.

And all Loki could do was watch in increasing horror, for he did not have enough magic left to protect them from the dragon’s onslaught for long. And scattered about as they were, he would have to choose but one… He raised his arms and with a silent apology to his friends, he focused what little magic he had left upon his brother.

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_Thanks for still reading and sorry for yet another long wait. I definitely will try to update all my Sif/Loki stories more often now._

_Hope you’re still enjoying the story and the action is still exciting! It’s definitely not an easy dragon to defeat is it? But then, where would the fun be in that! ;-)_

 


	12. Chapter 12

_Thanks for still reading. I am sorry for the delay, but I definitely plan to update the story much quicker next time!_

_I hope you enjoy this (hopefully) action packed chapter!_

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The battle continued to rage behind her, but Sif could spare it little attention. She had to find that dagger. The emerald glow had faded now, but she could still place its location and she did her best to reach it. But the giant beast was between her and the prize and try as she might, she could not find her way through. Whenever she stepped towards it, her sword raised high for protection, the thrashing tail of the dragon barred her way. Its sharp spike would rear towards her, lashing out as the beast fought her comrades. Sif would be forced to jump back, out of its way and retreat again. She tried a larger circle around the dragon, coming almost to the wall of trees at the edge of the clearing, but it was no good. Her friends were fighting the dragon with honour and valour, but their attacks merely drove the great beast backwards and forwards, its tail spinning around in defence and preventing Sif’s passage.

The woods were her next bet and she widened her circle, slipping between the thick trunks. If she could find her way around the beast, under the protection of branches, she may just have a chance. But the moment she stepped fully under their camouflage, all light was lost to her. She could not see even the sword in her hand. It was as if all light had been leached from the forest and not even the brightness of the clearing could penetrate through. Even the sound was disorientating here, echoing around her so she could not be sure from where it came. She could hear Loki’s shouts of instruction, Thor’s grunts as he threw Mjölnir and the clash and clatter of steel as the Warriors Three aided them. But it was if she was submerged under water, the noises distorted and distance, reverberating around the unyielding might of the trees.

The blackness all around was unnatural and Sif could only suppose it another trick of the sorcerer dragon. And a devious one at that, for Sif could not see her way forward. She tried a few steps, but a gnarled tree root grabbed her ankle and she was sent sprawling to the ground. She landed hard, unexpectedly and only a few centuries of battle training enabled her to keep hold of her weapon. She stood up warily and was faced with yet another problem. She was disorientated by her fall. She could not fathom which way to travel. Was the dagger to her left or to her right? Maybe if she continued forwards… She managed to prevent herself from tripping over another tree root, but the near fall stilled her movements. She had been lost in this dark forest before and had let herself be led right into the Dragon’s trap. And she would not do so again. How her friends had found them in the clearing, Sif did not know, but she would find no easy pathway through here. The dragon’s magic was too strong.

Her sword swung in an arc of frustration, disturbing the leaves on the lower branches. The sound, so close by, drew her attention and with it, her focus. She swung her weapon again, harder this time as she slashed through the foliage. Their strange symphony helped drive away the distortion in her ears and helped clarify the noises around her. The distant, echoing shouts of her friends and the roar of the great beast seemed louder to her left. Warily she stepped in that direction and the sound grew in volume. A few more cautious steps and she could make out the words of Loki as he issued his instructions and differentiate between the sound of hammer, sword, axe and mace.

Two more steps and light once more flooded her vision, the sound crashing into her ears as she reached the clearing. Her friends were still fighting the great beast and she spared them a quick glance. Already she could see that time was of the essence. The dragon was already learning and anticipating her friends’ attacks. It easily parried their blows and Sif knew well enough it would not stay in defeat for long. There was a rush of triumph in its eyes as it began to gain the upper ground against her friends. She had to get to that dagger. Soon.

But where did the dagger lie? Was it trapped within that wreckage of trees, or the one beside it? Sif’s eyes searched fervently for the precious weapon, but it remained hidden from view. Suddenly, she saw a flash of green in the second carnage of fallen branches. Sif could not resist a quick glance at her helper, but already Loki had turned away, once more aiding their friends. She pushed down the sudden tightness in her chest and forced herself to focus on her mission. She had to find a new way past the great bulk of the dragon. She stepped forwards once more and saw the giant tail swing around the clearing towards her. Sif managed to leap out of its path, but her friends were not so lucky. Sif watched helplessly as the dragon scattered them across the clearing.

It was in that moment that Sif saw her chance. She pushed down her instinct to help her friends and the brief, guilty relief that Loki himself had been spared, and wasted not a moment. She ran the short distance to the dagger, stopping only momentarily as the thick tail swung towards her, unexpectedly close as the dragon moved across the clearing towards her friends. Sif quickly dropped into a roll, her sword held carefully out of the way. The dragon’s tail still loomed over her, but she was close enough to the ground to miss it and she quickly reached the small prison of branches where the dagger was held captive.

She could see the blade now, its metal glistening in the eerie light of the clearing, but it was too far within the barricade of branches for Sif to reach. She cursed under her breath as her shoulder blade became momentarily trapped within the fallen canopy. Carefully, Sif brought her sword up and slipped it through the tightly woven branches. Her first attempt knocked the dagger further away and Sif cursed again in frustration. She was quickly running out of time. She forced her hand still, forced her sword slow and managed this time to push the dagger forwards with the tip of the blade. The moment it was in reach, Sif grabbed hold of its hilt and jumped to her feet. “Loki!”

He turned towards her immediately, the green flames of his magic building between his palms. It disappeared in an instant when he saw the light gleaming off the small blade in her hand. He nodded quickly and Sif threw the dagger across the clearing. The emeralds in the hilt blazed and Loki’s catch was perfect. The moment it reached his hand, he threw it at the dragon and whispered a quick spell that the blade would find its mark. It was not necessary. The great beast had swung its head towards him at Sif’s shout. But it had remembered its nemesis too late and the dagger flew towards it; the trajectory perfect and the dragon’s throat laid bare. The sharp blade sank in deep between the scales, piercing its throat and preventing it from breathing fire.

Its roar of pain and anguish was deafening as it lunged towards Loki, but he was already prepared for the dragon’s blow. He had spied Hogun’s mace in the undergrowth just moments ago and as he jumped away from the dragon’s claws, he reached for it in the grass. A mace had never been his weapon of choice, but he could handle it well enough and now he used its heavy weight in his favour. He swung the great weapon around and it collided with the dragon’s head that was rearing down towards him. It knocked the great beast backwards and forced the dagger in deeper, hiding the enchanted emeralds from view. He saw a flash of metal as Sif came up behind him and sank her sword deep into the dragon’s chest, slipping it deftly between the scales. The dragon growled and tried to reach towards the blade, but its clumsy claws could not find any purchase on the buried hilt.

“So that is why Loki needed the dagger.”

Sif spun around to see Fandral coming up behind her, his movements a little unsteady after his recent collision with the trees. He reached down and pulled his sword from the undergrowth and juggled it between its hands, appraising it for any sign of damage. “I wondered why my long sword would not be enough.”

“Nothing will be enough if we do not act soon,” Hogun remarked grimly, appearing from behind Fandral. He seemed to fair better than his comrade and quickly tossed Loki the throwing knives he had found buried amongst the undergrowth. Loki repaid in kind, handing the warrior his heavy mace. Sif looked anxiously towards the most recent wreckage of trees to see Volstagg still trapped within their prison. Already though, Thor was using Mjölnir to break the barricade of fallen branches and release his friend. The Crown Prince held his hand out to Volstagg, helping the warrior to his feet.

Sif’s relief at seeing her friends safe was short lived, for the dragon wasted no time now. It roared before it rushed towards her and Loki, ignoring her injured friends as it focused on its older and most bothersome of foes. But her friends did not ignore it. Volstagg was quick to find his axe and Mjölnir once more circled around Thor, gaining speed. They all attacked the dragon as one, an unbreakable tide of movement as the war cry of the Ǽsir spilled from their lips.

Loki was the first to strike, his throwing knives finding their target perfectly, each sinking deeply into the eyes of the beast. It roared in pain, but was unable to use its magic to recover, for already the Ǽsir were attacking, their weapons cutting deep. Its cries of anger and pain no longer filled Sif’s heart with sympathy, no longer could she see the face of the Loki it had pretended to be within. Too many times it had tried to kill her this night and now it had turned its rage and hunger onto her friends. That she could not forgive. The only mercy she could spare this beast now was a quick death, but none was forthcoming. The dragon still fought on; trying to attack and parry blows it could not see. It was only when Mjölnir struck a particularly hard blow across the dragon’s chest and Loki’s magic struck the wound a moment later that the dragon seemed to finally acknowledge its defeat. The sound it unleashed was unlike anything Sif had ever heard. It seemed as if the very earth was being torn asunder and the cacophony of noise ripped from the very depths of Hel itself. The ground shook with its ferocity and Sif had no choice but to cover her ears lest she be deafened.

The horrific roar stopped as unexpectedly as it began, but it had been enough to distract her, to distract them all. She saw it the moment Loki did, and that was a moment too late.

It foes were scattered all around, but that did not perturb the dragon, for its greatest enemy was clear. In one final act of defiance, it swung its giant tail around towards the second prince.

“Loki!” Sif screamed as she saw the great mass of the tail collide with Loki’s chest.

Once again, Loki found himself careening backwards across the clearing. He struck the tree with a hard, painful blow and it knocked his head back with an audible snap. It was one blow too many for himself and the tree he had collided with. Its battered trunk finally snapped in half with a deafening crack and its canopy raced down towards him. He did not have chance to utter any spell of protection before a thick branch struck his head. He was vaguely aware of a female voice calling his name and he whispered a quick prayer to Yggdrasil that Sif would be safe. Then, the blackness swam across his eyes and he drifted into unconsciousness.

“Loki!” Sif screamed again as the great bough of the tree crashed down upon him. Her first instinct was to race towards him, but the great dragon barred her way. Anxiously, she searched for another way to reach him, but before she had chance, a sudden dazzling light flooded the clearing. It centred on the dragon and quickly grew brighter and brighter. Sif had to close her eyes and cover them to try and force its blinding light away. For a moment, there was nothing but the brightest and most vivid of yellows filling her closed eyes. Then, suddenly, it had gone. She blinked her eyes a few times, clearing away the afterglow for she could not believe what she saw.

The clearing was now dimly lit by moonlight, but it was enough for Sif to see that it was empty. The great bulk of the dragon had gone.  


	13. Chapter 13

“Where is it?” Thor’s loud, angry voice rang around the clearing.

Sif jumped around to see him standing behind her, spinning Mjölnir around in his hands in agitation. Her friends were next to him and they too were looking around for the dragon, some anxiously, some in irritation. Yet even as their eyes peered keenly between the thick trees that still remained standing and the wreckage of those lying in devastation, they remained perplexed. It was difficult to see what lay concealed between their twisted limbs and the threat of the dragon hiding loomed over them still.

The strange eerie light that had lit the clearing was gone though, replaced by a silvery moonlight which made the carnage all around look strangely beautiful. The natural light looked almost foreign to Sif, so accustomed had she become to the strange yellow magic of the dragon filling her vision. It occurred to her briefly that this may be an illusion, another trick of the dragon as it fought for a new way to survive. But where could the dragon be hiding? And why did it not attack now, when they were all distracted?

“It is gone,” Hogun answered the crown prince’s question with conviction, though his voice was even grimmer than usual. If this was their victory, it was a hollow one, for where was their fallen nemesis? The dragon was still free and neither Loki’s magic nor their weapons had been able to fully defeat it.

It was Hogun’s words that were the final conformation to Sif that the dragon had indeed vanished and her eyes did not play tricks. Yet the adrenaline still flooded through her veins and she gripped tighter to her sword. She could not rest and a gnawing anxiety spiralled around her mind as her thoughts turned unwittingly to the second prince. The first blow he had taken had been severe, the second Sif feared had knocked him unconscious. Or worse…

Her eyes searched apprehensively around the clearing, but there was no sign of him. In the silvery moonlight the wreckage of branches appeared the same and Sif could not be sure where he had fallen. She was about to begin a more thorough search, her feet already about to move, when Fandral’s irritated voice filled the clearing. “Well it cannot have gone far!” His sword shifted from hand to hand, as did the weapons of her friends, none of them able to rest with so shallow a conquest.

“It will be long gone by now.”

All five Asgardians spun around at the sound of Loki’s voice, Sif’s eyes the quickest. Loki was slowly standing up, his movements shaky and he had to reach out towards a branch to steady himself. There was a thin trail of red running down his forehead and he whipped it away quickly. His voice was hoarse, but steady and he began to climb over the remains of the fallen tree towards them.

Sif’s relief was difficult to hide, but she dug her heels in and clenched her fists. She knew Loki would skirt any aid now, his careful and slow movements showed her that. And with her relief came the growing awareness of just how she had acted towards him this night. Sif knew she must be careful, for she could not afford any more revelations about her feelings for the second prince.

Thor had no reason to hide his relief, or any qualms or knowledge of ruining his brother’s pride. “Brother, are you alright?” He stepped towards Loki and was about to embrace him, but stopped himself in time. Instead he quickly appraised his brother for any severe injuries.

“I am fine, Thor!” Loki swatted another trickle of blood from his forehead and stepped more purposefully into the clearing. Sif could not miss the flicker of pain in his eyes though, and she stepped towards him instinctively, needing to assess his injuries herself. He looked to be in an appalling shape; his clothes were torn and tattered, muddy and speckled with green and red stains. Underneath the soot and mud, cuts from the branches covered his face, running into blistering, burnt skin and Sif could already see bruises spreading around his eyes, his forehead swelling. He was safe though, breathing and talking and Sif knew any injuries he would heal soon enough, when his magic returned. The dragon’s final blow must not have been as fierce as it intended.

Sif wondered then how her own appearance faired. She could feel her own bruises forming, her muscles and bones aching from the fighting, weary now the adrenaline was beginning to drain from her veins. Her own clothes were ruined and blood stained, her skin still bristling from the dragon’s scorching flames. Yet there were no broken bones or deep gashes and Sif was grateful they were all relatively unscathed. But the relief at defeating the dragon did not sit as easily in her bones as did her relief at seeing Loki and her friends safe. There was a strange disquiet in the air. A faint whispering as the wind shared its indecipherable secrets with the trees, rustling between their decimated boughs and enduring leaves. It was a strange, eerie sound, one that could only be heard from a distance, once focused upon it shifted and changed, dancing away like the memories of a dream. There seemed to be a shadow here too, a strange presence as fleeting as the whispers, only visible from the corner of her eye. She thought she heard a cackle of laughter, so familiar yet foreign to her. Yet when she whipped her head around towards the sound, it was gone. Instead, she found herself looking straight into Loki’s eyes. They were watching her, almost shrewdly. She looked away quickly, hoping the mud and soot on her face would hide the sudden rush of blood to her cheeks.

Sif gripped her sword tighter, the strangeness in the air unsettling her. Unsettling them all, for they all held their weapons out, prepared, their bodies tense and alert as they fell automatically into battle formation. Only Loki looked relaxed, and Sif wondered anxiously how much he was trying to hide away the pain from his injuries.

“Now that you are safe with us, brother, we must track down this beast and slay it!”

“Aye, the sooner the better, before it attacks again!” Volstagg agreed quickly, his sharp reply belying his own nervousness.

“We will not find it, brother.” The atmosphere in the clearing seemed to shift again, the unsettling feeling dimmed, as if it were being reined in. The moonlight grew brighter, like a cloud withdrawing from the moon. The weapons stilled in their hands, the whispering growing fainter. “It will be gone by now, Thor.”

Loki turned towards them all, addressing them as he continued, “It will have fled to its lair, far away from here.”

“But we cannot just leave it to attack other unsuspecting travellers!” Thor argued.

“We have no choice!” Loki countered, his voice taking on a shrill note, sounding almost panicked. He paused and Sif watched him carefully in concern. He looked slightly uncomfortable, awkward, as if he was hiding something. Sif felt her anxiety for him grow, worried his injuries were worse than he had acknowledged. Yet she knew better than to comment and Loki continued, his voice calmer now, though edged with weariness and vexation. “The dragon is gone, Thor, and we do not know where. This is the dragon’s forest and it will have laid many a trap to thwart us even as it fled.”

“And so we are to return to Asgard empty handed?” Thor asked, “Whilst there is still so dangerous a beast alive?”

“We have no chance of finding it tonight.” Loki sighed as Thor continued to glare at him, his expression hard and resolute. “If you are so determined to find this dragon, brother, we will fair better on the morrow, when we can search in daylight.”

“And when the dragon has had chance to recover!” Thor argued.

“And when we have had chance to recover ourselves!” Loki’s voice had risen again, the tone harsher. It softened as he continued, once more addressing them all, as if to garner their favour. “All of us have suffered injuries tonight and we all need a good nights rest to recover.” 

“But we must attack now, when the dragon is weak!” Thor countered angrily, Mjölnir starting to spin agitatedly in his hands once more.

“And get lost? It will do us no good traipsing around this haunted forest, following a non-existent trail!” His voice had grown shrill again, frustrated and almost fierce, panicked. Loki stopped, took a deep breath and weighed his next words more carefully. Sif watched him considering his brother, saw his fingers clench and release repeatedly in frustration. She felt the atmosphere in the clearing shift again, felt an eerie calmness descend. Eventually Loki replied, his voice forced calmer, “You must understand Thor. If we are to find this beast, we have to wait until dawn. To continue on now would be foolhardy.”

“Then fools we should be! How can we rest when such a dangerous creature stalks our camp and threatens our safety and that of our people?”

“But I cannot find any trace of the dragon, Thor. There is no magical path we can follow through this dense forest. We would truly be travelling blind!”

His voice had taken on a firmer tone again and Sif was surprised by Loki’s response. It was not unusual for the brothers to fight, but it was unusual for Loki to reveal such barely concealed frustration and anger. And it was not like him to admit any failing, especially not where his magic was concerned. A thread of suspicion kindled with anxiety began to thread through her mind. After herself, Loki had the most ground for revenge against their nemesis, yet he seemed determined to convince them to leave the dragon be. She turned her attention towards him, watching him carefully, her muscles tensing instinctively in alert. Something was not quite right.

Loki saw her watching him, and once more his eyes fell on her. She held them this time in challenge, defying him to reveal the truth in his uncertainty. She refused to look away even as she saw a strange flicker of mischief in his eyes, a smirk tainted with something akin to malice flashing across his lips.

“The dragon has played many a trick on us tonight, Thor. Do you want to walk right into yet another one?” Whilst his words were aimed at his brother, Loki’s gaze remained fixed on her and she looked away then, the memory of the cruel trick the dragon had played on her, and Loki’s witness of it, coming unbidden to her mind. She could feel his gaze on her a few moment more, felt the triumph in his eyes and knew his smirk to be there, barely concealed. Sif busied herself with examining her sword, still unable to meet his eyes and trying not to think of what was to come. She would have to face Loki and what he had seen soon enough, but she had hoped to find him in a more charitable mood. His eyes now seemed alight with mischief at her expense. It unsettled her, a strange coldness creeping along her skin, under her bones.

“We cannot just give up, Loki!” Thor replied, seemingly unaware of any tension between his brother and his friend.

Loki’s gaze shifted from her then and almost immediately the strange, unsettling feeling vanished. Sif could only suppose it was fear filling her veins with worry. Was she not a warrior of Asgard? Such fears were for weaklings and Sif tried to shake the last of her anxieties away. She would face Loki soon enough and should he treat her unkindly, perhaps it would only increase her own feelings diminishing. Right now there was a more important dilemma to face, one Loki seemed determined to win.

“We will not give up, Thor.” Loki replied, his voice sounding hard and determined once more. “We will fair better in the light of day and after a night of rest.” He paused a moment, watching his brother carefully. He continued when he saw Thor’s face still gripped with determination. “It hunts at night, it will be weaker in the daytime and we will be able to catch it unawares. The dragon will expect us to follow him now.”

This time, Thor had no answering response and Loki’s gaze remained fixed resolutely on his brother. Sif felt the atmosphere in the clearing start to shift again, the eerie whispers of the wind growing momentarily louder and Thor’s hammer start to slow in its agitated movements. Sif herself remained silent, as did the Warriors Three. Centuries of conflicts had taught them well enough to leave the princes to fight their own battles of will. And Sif did not know what guidance to give. She agreed with Thor that the dragon should be stopped for good, for she knew full well how dangerous it could be. She would have died at its hands were it not for her friends aid and she did not wish to see the same fate befall someone less blessed. Yet it was unusual for Loki to back down from an adventure so readily, for him to admit even the hint of a failure. She could only ascertain Loki knew they truly had no hope of ever finding the beast.

Thor seemed to be approaching the same conclusion, for he stopped Mjölnir spinning entirely and took it determinedly in both hands. “Then we wake at dawn and hunt down this beast.” It was a command from the first prince of Asgard and no one, not even Loki, dared to contradict it. He turned on his heel and started to walk towards the thick trees, knowing his companions would follow. And indeed they did, sheathing their weapons and falling into step behind their prince.

Only Loki paused and Sif heard a loud sigh and a curse escape his lips, before he begrudgingly followed them. She quickened her pace, seeking as much distance from the second prince of Asgard as she could acquire. Now there was some respite from the danger, the full implications of her actions and what Loki had witnessed filled her mind with irrepressible dread. She cursed her own weakness, the feelings she preferred to keep buried deep in her heart. Yet it did no good. She was far too aware of Loki behind her, his large strides bridging the distance between them quickly. Centuries of fearlessly standing down her enemies on the battlefields could not silence the terror running through her veins then. Yet as Loki fell into step beside her, she had a feeling her greatest irrational, yet irrepressible fear was about to be exposed.

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_Hope you enjoyed reading the chapter. I am sorry yet again for the long delay. I really have got the rest of the story planned and will finish writing it as soon as I can – and as soon as the muse allows!_

_Thanks for still reading – it is very much appreciated._

 


	14. Chapter 14

The moment Loki came up beside her, Sif felt her heart start to beat erratically. She clenched her fingers tightly into fists and felt the sweat begin to pool within them. The adrenaline was starting to race around her body and for a moment, Sif wished they had chosen to seek out the dragon this night. Facing its scorching fire would be preferable to this.

Once again, Sif cursed herself and her own weakness, but it did no good. She was a great warrior of Asgard, she had fearlessly defeated countless enemies on the battlefields, yet she found herself unable to suppress the panic building within. Her heart was racing now and she could not settle. She wanted her blade and an enemy to fight, not Loki beside her and the uncertainty of what he would do or say. She herself said nothing, kept her eyes fixed straight ahead on her friends. A polite nod was all she had granted Loki when he had first fallen into step beside her. If he saw her discomfort, he made no comment and Sif did her best to keep her stride sure and purposeful, her expression hard and defiant.

Their way ahead was clearer now, a narrow trail winding through the trees. Its floor was thick with undergrowth and fallen branches, roots twisting upwards to catch unwary travellers off guard, but a distinct path nonetheless. From the confident way her friends marched ahead, Sif realised this was how they had found her and Loki before, that the magic of the dragon had hidden it from her view. Sif found herself wishing the path was less easy to navigate, for at least then it would grant her some distraction from the ordeal awaiting her.

Loki remained silent, but Sif was sure he was watching her, scrutinising her. Repeatedly she felt his gaze fall upon her face, but she did not dare look at him to check. It unsettled her further, increased the pounding in her head from her heart. She wished she knew what he was thinking, wished she could predict what was to come.

Facing an enemy was easy compared to this; then you could hold the steel more tightly in your fist, know there was only one of two outcomes acceptable; to win. There was no space for emotion, no time to be afraid. Only adrenaline and instincts and the need to fight and survive. This was something Sif had never been trained for. The embarrassment and dread she felt could not be so easily slain with a sword. Nor the shame that mingled with it. Shame that she had fallen so easily under the dragon’s spell, that she had let her own desires override her senses. And there was guilt too. Guilt that she had dragged Loki into her own downfall, had placed him in perilous danger. And that she had unwittingly relieved her true feelings for him. Sif was not accustomed to such emotions, and they unsettled her, simmering through her veins and replacing the adrenaline usually as familiar to her as a weapon. Her fingers clenched more tightly around her sword, every muscle within her wanting to fight, to run. Yet she kept her stride strong, her gaze fixed ahead. She would wait for Loki to make the first attack.

The distance from their friends was growing, their determined strides marching quickly ahead back towards camp. Yet Loki’s pace was slowing, separating them further from their friends. Her own stride had been falling to match, for she did not want to appear too eager to escape him. But the mounting distance between them and their friends unnerved her and it was not long before she lost her resolve and broke the restless silence, “We should hurry back to camp, Loki, if we are to find enough rest before dawn.”

She glanced his way as she spoke and her eyes caught his watching her. They were curious now, contemplative and any sign of the mischief and malice she had seen in them before was gone. She was not sure if this should worry her more, for she knew Loki well enough and the games he liked to play. She quickly looked away from him and focused once more on the path, quickening her pace subtly.

Loki paused before he responded, watching her for a few moments. Eventually he replied, “You are right, Sif. We should rest as soon as we can.” His pace became marginally quicker, but still the distance behind their friends was growing.

The silence once more consumed them until it became unbearable, yet Sif could not find any words to say. Staring ahead and avoiding his eyes was maddening and it took all of Sif’s warrior pride to keep pace with Loki and not rush ahead. She tried to busy herself with her sword, unsheathing it and examining it in the moonlight, hoping her actions did not betray her nervousness. As she occupied herself with cleaning the blade on her tunic, a thought suddenly struck her. She should have another blade, the dagger. In the chaos of the dragon’s disappearance she had quite forgotten about her precious weapon.

Sif paused in her footsteps and Loki mimicked her instantly. He turned towards her curiously and she quickly explained, “The dagger. I left it in the clearing.” She started to turn around, eager to retrieve her lost weapon and, she was not too proud to deny it, eager to delay any conversation with Loki.

As she started to head in the direction of the clearing though, Loki suddenly reached out and grabbed her wrist. His touched stopped her instantly in her tracks and she spun back around to face him.

“No!” His voice was high, panicked and it surprised her as much as his touch. He looked first anxiously at the hand wrapped around her wrist, then up into her eyes. They seemed to flicker strangely for a moment and Loki dropped her wrist as abruptly as he had grabbed it.

Sif lowered her eyes, followed the movement of his hand as it shifted awkwardly to his side, but she resisted the urge to step away. She could still feel the cool touch of his fingers on her wrist, a strange, unsettling shiver running up her arm. Her fists clenched, but she would not touch her wrist and try and rub it away.

Her expression must have shown her confusion and shock, for Loki explained hurriedly, “You cannot go back to the clearing. It will be too dangerous, Sif.”

The panic within his reaction surprised her. She could think of no reason to suppose danger still remained there. They were nearby and she only wanted to find her dagger. With the enchanted emeralds etched into its hilt, Loki’s magic would surely find where it lay.

She started to turn around again, when Loki exclaimed quickly, “The dragon may still be there!”

His words made her pause and she turned back towards him in confusion. “The dragon?” She asked in surprise. “You said it would be long gone by now.”

“I know,” Loki paused, looking uncomfortable for a moment, flustered and uncertain. He continued edgily, “I mean, I am sure it is gone, but…” He ruffled his hands though his hair, the long black strands falling unruly around his face, their ends beginning to curl. She watched them with a strange fascination, watched Loki, always so cool and collected and distant, begin to unravel before her. Sif’s earlier worries resurfaced, anxiety creeping into her mind. What pain and injuries was Loki trying to hide? He noticed her curious expression and stilled his hand. His face fell again into calmness, but it did not manage to reach his eyes. They flickered uncertainly, almost anxiously. “I may be wrong, Sif. The dragon may have concealed itself there whilst it recovers.”

Her eyes narrowed, “And yet you told Thor we should leave and wait until dawn?”

“And so we should,” Loki quickly argued, then sighed. It was not unlike the many he aimed in his brother’s direction and Sif felt her pride bristle. “We will fair better in the morning sun and I am sure it has long gone, returned to its lair to lick its wounds. But I cannot be certain.”

Sif still eyed him uncertainly, not believing in the danger as Loki did. She wanted the dagger in her hand, the cool metal against her fingertips. Yet how could she explain to Loki how precious it had become, when it had been he who had gifted it to her so long ago?

Loki must have sensed her uncertainly, for he continued, “It is too dangerous to venture back to the clearing, Sif. I may have been wrong and we already know we cannot fight it alone.” He glanced ahead at their friends, so far ahead of them now.

“We can search for it in the morning Sif.” He finally added when she still hesitated. His voice was low, soft and entreating and Sif felt a whisper of wind rush past her skin, a shift in the air around them. Yet the leaves remained still, not announcing the gentle breeze rising.

The wisdom in his words seemed clearer and Sif finally nodded. The dagger could wait until tomorrow; the risk was too great and unnecessary. She had her sword and though it did not fit in her boot or under her pillow, it was a comforting weight in her hands all the same. She knew she had little chance of finding the dagger without Loki’s magic, and could she really ask him to follow her into potential danger?

Loki nodded in kind, his relief obvious and it piqued Sif’s anxieties once more. She could only hope his injuries were not too severe, that it was fatigue and the draining of his magic that made him so cautious, made his behaviour so uncharacteristic.           

Turning quickly from him, she sheathed her sword and began to stride ahead once more, keeping her eyes on the path in front of them. She was anxious to return to camp, for Loki to seek the rest he must so surely need and for the inevitable unveiling of the truth between them to be delayed.

Loki once more fell into step beside her and with no more distractions to consume her thoughts, once more they grew sombre and apprehensive. The air between them was growing heavy again, intense with all the unspoken truths and words. Yet Sif could not find any to break the silence. She tried to hurry their footsteps, eager to reach their friends.

They had not gone much further when Loki finally interrupted the disquiet between them, “I am anxious to reach camp, Sif, but…” He paused and halted his footsteps suddenly. Sif went a few more steps before she realised and was forced to stop and turn back towards him. “I was hoping I could speak to you.” He glanced at their friends, almost out of sight now, “Alone.”

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_A/N Thanks for still reading and I hope you're still enjoying the story._ _And I am sorry for the wait between the chapters._ _I know I always say this, but this time I really am going to try harder to update more often!_


	15. Chapter 15

The last word Loki had spoken rustled across the path, echoing around her thoughts. The directness startled her and she felt her heart jump fitfully as a shiver of apprehension scurried along her veins. She glanced quickly at their friends, following his eyes as much in surprise as in distraction. They were so far away now, too distant to offer her any diversion. She clenched her fists before turning back towards him, ignored the sudden pounding in her blood and fixed her mouth in a hard, tight line.

He was watching her again, his eyes seeking hers in earnest. There was no doubt of what he wanted to discuss. Loki had seen the truth of her regard for him firsthand and there was no excuse Sif could give. Maybe Loki discovering her true feelings was inevitable, but she wished it had not proved to be so soon. 

Yet there was nothing Sif could do or say then. She did not want to talk to him, not now, so soon after their ordeal. She wanted to leave him be and hurry to meet their friends. She wanted the safety of their company and the comfort of their camp. But she was a shield maiden of Asgard, trained to face her fears and stand tall against her enemies. She would not walk away and surrender to her weakness now. She would not back down from this challenge. Yet there was no challenge in Loki’s eyes, just wonder and curiosity, beseeching her to stay. And it had a far greater effect on her determination. Loki was asking her now as a friend, seeking to understand and placate the tension between them. And Sif could not deny him that. So she nodded at him to continue, but did not speak. She would let Loki lead this discussion; see what words he would utter and games he would play before she revealed any more truths to him.

It took Loki a while before he began, several times he seemed about to speak, but he uttered no words. When he did finally talk, his voice was weak, stuttered, “I wanted to…speak to you…because…I…I saw…” His voice trailed off timidly, his eyes flittering nervously between hers and the ground. His fingers twisted together, fumbling repeatedly and his feet were shuffling. His behaviour was uncharacteristic; flustered and edgy and it unnerved her. What truth was he so afraid to speak of?

Sif was under no illusions that he may reciprocate her regard for him, but she feared how he may treat her now. Would he scoff at her feelings, use them for his own mischief? She would not have believed it possible, but his malicious smirk in the clearing before still unsettled her... At least now his eyes looked gentle, whatever games he had planned must have been abandoned. Perhaps now he would be kind to her in whatever rejection he had planned. Maybe he would be more delicate with her, worry he was hurting her… _That_ she could not abide. She was no delicate lady of the court and she would curse any who treated her as one.

The uncertainty of it was gnawing at her thoughts, kindling the fear in her blood until it became almost insufferable. She did not want to face him, to be forced to acknowledge that things between them would never be the same. Yet now that the time had finally come, she found her impatience overriding her reason. She wanted to know, _now_. Wanted to hear Loki reveal his own feelings, wanted to know exactly what truths she had to face. But long had she trained to keep her impatience at bay, and now she did her best to remain still, to keep her tongue silent and her feet firm on the ground. Her hand on the hilt of her sword clenched and her fingers tapped irritably, but that was the only outward sign she would show.

Eventually Loki managed to find his words again, but his speech was still slow, uncertain; stopping and starting as his silver tongue failed him. “I cannot…deny what I saw…Sif. I…I saw… When the dragon had taken my form, Sif… I… You were… You were kissing…him… Kissing who…who you thought was…well…me...”

The lack of eloquence and the directness of his words startled her. Her heart thudded unsteadily in her chest and Sif had to bite back her words and force her body to remain motionless. Loki seemed almost as nervous and unsure as she and that at least was a welcome relief from his characteristic smirk and gilded, often mocking words. His stalling was frustrating though, grating on her impatient until it became almost impossible to remain silent. But Loki still had the upper ground. He knew what he saw and there was little room for confusion in the truth and reasons behind it. Yet Sif was entirely in the dark and could not fathom what thoughts lay behind his words. His hesitancy was a blessing, but it gave her no indication of what to expect. So she remained silent. She would let Loki continue this strange, surreal conversation.

He seemed to be waiting for her response, but her lips remained in a tight, cold line, her eyes remained on his, defiant and emotionless. Her warriors face. After a few moments he continued. “Forgive me Sif, but…I… I have to ask… I… I am curious, Sif. If…if you were…aware…it was…well, me…or…whether the dragon had completely bewitched you.” His last words were rushed and now he averted his eyes from her face, shifted his gaze to the dense wall of trees around them.

A blink was the only response Sif gave, her warrior’s mask remaining firm. Yet her thoughts were still in turmoil. Could Loki really believe that? Think that Sif would only kiss him through powerful bewitchment? Or was he offering her an excuse, a chance to escape from admitting the truth? He had turned towards her again and his face looked at her in earnest, uncertain and confused and Sif continued to remain silent. She was not as clever with her words as Loki and she could not bring herself to either admit the truth, or deny it.

Loki was waiting for her to speak, watching her intently for any hint of an answer. His eyes were searching hers and Sif felt a strange unsettling shiver run down her spine and push into her thoughts. She ignored it, as she ignored the pounding in her heart and instead focused all her attention on trying to keep her head high and eyes hard. Involuntary, her fingers clenched tighter around her sword and Sif saw Loki’s gaze momentarily flicker towards it.

“Sif, I…” Loki began when Sif continued to watch him silently and coldly. “The reason I am asking, Sif, is because…” He paused then, swallowed thickly. He glanced along the path, empty now, their friends long out of sight. He turned back towards her and seemed about to speak again when he suddenly stopped, frozen in place. His eyes looked anxiously over her shoulder, into the dense forest beyond. His head tilted to one side, listening. Sif was about to look behind her to see what had caught his attention, when his face changed again. His gaze once more fell on her, but his eyes were harder this time, more determined and certain. They seemed to pierce right into her heart and Sif wondered if her eyes betrayed her. Could Loki see in them the turmoil within her thoughts and emotions? He stepped towards her and Sif avoided the impulse to move away, digging her heels into the ground.

The air around her seemed to shift again, growing thicker and heavier. It pushed against her mind and made it harder to breathe. A faint breeze slithered across her skin, prickling her nerves. Her instincts were stirring, tensing her muscles and preparing her for battle. She cursed her nerves again, ashamed of her weakness and tried to push away the anxiety growing within her mind. She could not back down from facing Loki now.

“Because I wanted to know…” As Loki spoke, he slowly moved closer towards her. His movements were hesitant, but his eyes remained fixed on hers, watching for any sign of a reaction. She gave none, forcing her face perfectly blank and her body still, but it did not dissuade him. “If you felt the same…” He continued to close the distance until there was barely an inch between them. “As I do…for you.” He was looking down at her when he finished, his eyes blazing into hers.  His voice had become deeper too, still tentative, but with a heaviness to it that made Sif shiver.

She refused to show it though. She did her best to hide her feelings entirely. But she was finding it near impossible to breathe now, his closeness intoxicating. And the words he had spoken spun around in her thoughts. Could it really be true? Was Loki actually telling her that he reciprocated her feelings? She searched his eyes for any hint of mischief, any sign that he was just playing with her affections. But there was none. They were dark, intense and they burnt into her.

There was no hint of uncertainty in his actions now, her lack of movement must have told him more than any words could. He reached out a hand and gently brushed her cheek, following her jaw line and slipping slowly beneath her chin. This time, Sif cold not suppress her shiver and she saw a flicker of a smirk cross his lips. But she did not have the ability to analyse it now, to listen to her instincts gnawing at her to be cautious. For Loki was tilting her chin up towards his, leaning down towards her. When he spoke, his voice was a whisper against her cheek. “Tell me, Sif.” His other arm had slipped around her back, his hand running along her spine. His fingers reached her neck, caressing it tenderly before twisting gently in her hair. “Do you feel the same?”

Sif could not answer, but not for fear of revealing the truth. She could not answer because her breath was caught in her throat, the ability to speak stolen from her as her entire being focused on Loki. Focused on his eyes, so dark and intense and almost yellow in the moonlight. Focused on his breath as it tickled against her lips as he leaned down towards her. Focused on his fingers tilting her head up closer and still twisting in her hair.

At that moment, despite all her centuries on the battle field and training grounds, remaining strong and in control and emotionless as she stared down her foes, Sif was lost. A puppet on Loki’s strings. And his eyes were so intense upon her that she did not even have the strength of mind to care, to even wonder at how far she had fallen into his spell…

The moment her eyes flickered shut, Sif heard movement in the trees behind her. The sound of a twig snapping, of the trees rustling too discordantly for the wind. It broke through into her hazy mind and reminded Sif of where she was, what she was doing and the danger they were suddenly in. The noise could only mean one thing. The dragon had returned.

 


	16. Chapter 16

The noise startled Sif and she hastily pulled away from Loki. But before she could turn around and see behind her, an unexpected pain ripped across her shoulder and down her back. The searing pain made her step away from Loki in surprise, but he was not looking at her. His eyes were fixed behind her, searching through the trees for the source of the noise. Despite the new agony across her body, Sif focused her attention on the same place as Loki, her fingers going instinctively to the hilt of her sword. She was about to draw it when an object suddenly appeared in the air. It came whistling across the path so quickly that Sif could not make out its design or function. There was a sudden flash of green as it sank deep into Loki’s chest, just below his heart.

Instinctively, Sif turned around to face their attacker, unsheathing her sword. She started forwards, but then a figure emerged from the forest and Sif stilled in her tracks. Loki. But that was not possible…

She looked towards the Loki in front of her, saw his lips now twisted into a snarl and his eyes yellow bright. Where his soft, delicate fingers had been were claws, reflecting red in the moonlight. Sif realised then what had cut into her back so deeply and wondered if it may have been a mortal wound, had she not pulled away so soon. Or had Loki not found them in time…

But the truth was plain before her eyes now. She had been fooled once again by the treacherous dragon. She had once more let herself fall under its spell, believe in the pleasant dream it had presented her with. But now the immense danger they were in struck her as heavily as a blade. It mingled with Loki’s shouts of warning as he moved across the path towards her. She knew they did not have the necessary strength and magic to fight it again. And what of her friends, Thor and the Warriors Three? They had been equally as fooled as she and may not be able to stand against the dragon a second time. For even now the dragon was recovering, its claws already around the dagger and pulling it free. Its face had begun to distort, the jaw enlarging around its sneer, revealing long, sharp teeth.

Sif held her sword up towards it, but as it grew and deformed even more into the face of the dragon, she realised how small and ineffectual it would be. Still she gripped her sword tighter, bracing her legs and preparing to strike. Her face hardened and she gnashed her teeth at the beast. She was a warrior of Asgard and she did not flinch before her nemesis, no matter what the odds. And this time she let her fury override her warrior instincts, allowed her thirst for revenge guide her actions. She drew her arm back, ready to thrust her sword towards the hideous face of the dragon.

Another object whistled through the air. A throwing knife finding purchase in the dragon’s shoulder. Sif paused in her attack as the great beast roared in agony. Another knife was quick to follow, ripping through the black tunic it had adopted in its disguise and sinking deep into its heart.

The knife seemed to stop its transformation. After a second thunderous growl, the dragon began to shrink before her eyes. The jaw once more grew into the shape of Loki’s smirk. The sickly yellow of its eyes was dulling, changing into the emerald green of its attacker. Fingers reached now for the throwing knives buried within its body, strong enough to grip the handles and wrench them free, casting them aside and into the undergrowth.

“Sif! Kill it! Kill it quickly before it recovers!”

Loki’s shouts came from close behind her now. Sif spared him a quick glance over her shoulder before clutching her sword tighter and turning back towards the dragon. But its attention was not on her. Its eyes were fixed maliciously on the figure behind. It snarled and Sif did not have time to attack before it lunged towards Loki. It knocked the second prince several paces backwards, forcing him to the ground. Their collision made the earth beneath her feet shake and Sif watched anxiously as the two Loki’s began to fight.

The dagger the dragon had pulled from its chest lay close by. The beast seized it quickly and aimed it towards Loki, the blade pushing near his throat. Loki’s fingers clenched around it and tried to force it away. It stilled for a moment, hovering above his jugular, before he managed to jerk it free. The dragon snarled, began to rise to its knees ready to strike Loki, but Loki was faster. He twisted beneath the dragon, kicking it across its injured chest and hurling it backwards. Before the dragon had chance to counter the attack, Loki lunged towards it, gripping the dagger and now pushing it down towards the dragon. But the dragon did not stay restrained for long. It soon threw Loki off, wrenching the dagger from his grip before attacking again.

With her sword held high, Sif watched them, ready to strike. But as the two Loki’s wrestled before her, she could not spy her chance. The figures were moving too quickly now, each kicking and punching and charging at the other. The dagger shone green and silver as it slivered too close to skin, only to be pushed away and thrust towards the other. Until one Loki lost its grip and it spun across the path, out of their reach and disappearing into the undergrowth like the knives before it.

“Loki!” Sif cried, standing as close as she dared, keeping her sword out ready and her muscles tense and alert, waiting. But still she could not get a clean strike. And she could not, _would_ _not,_ risk wounding Loki. But which _was_ Loki?

Neither turned at her cry, each too consumed in their struggle. Pulses of yellow and green started to blaze around them, mixed with grunts of exertion and cries of pain. Sif’s battle trained eyes had tried to follow every blow and every kick, but the figures moved too fast. A blur of green and yellow and red and black and she had lost track of the real Loki. Both figures were identical in every way and Sif could not discern which was Loki, and which the dragon.

She had just started to circle them again, looking for an opening, when there was a blinding flash of light. Shades of yellow and green merged together until the pathway shone with an unearthly white radiance. It was immediately followed by a high pitched screech, so loud and piercing it ran like a knife through her head. Then, suddenly, the two figures were thrown apart and careered across the path, each hitting a tree on opposite sides. There was a sickening thud and a cacophony of noise as the boughs swung above them treacherously.

The sound echoed around the clearing and Sif looked between the two injured figures fearfully. Her feet shifted as she fought down the urge to run towards them. The air around her crackled with the afterglow of white light and Sif felt it creep along her skin. The familiar and foreign magic battling for supremacy, a simmering heat deep within her veins. It tugged at her thoughts, tried to consume her sanity. She pushed it away, pulled her sword closer, grasped it tighter.

“Sif,” the Loki on her right gasped, voice weary with pain. The raw emotion split through her mind and her chest tightened. She started towards him, sure this had to be the real Loki.

“Sif,” the other Loki cried out, his voice edged with the same suffering and Sif stopped in her tracks. She looked repeatedly between each Loki. Both were beginning to recover, sitting up and freeing themselves from the fallen branches. Their eyes were slowly clearing, turning towards her and focusing on her in earnest. Yet still she could not discern the real prince from the shapeshifter. Even their new injuries, so recently sustained, mirrored each other. A deep gash from a fallen tree branch now ripped across each right cheek. The same path of blood ran down the chest and disappeared into the torn tunic.

Her battle instincts were raging, fuelled by her anxiety for Loki and her confusion over her true enemy. But with controlled effort, Sif stepped forwards slowly, cautiously, remaining equidistant from each Loki. Vigilantly she looked between them, searching their faces for something, anything to show her which Loki spoke the truth. As she stepped forwards, her boot struck something hard and unyielding. It was her dagger and as she bent down to retrieve it, the emeralds warmed to her touch. She tested its weight in her palm before turning once more to the two figures before her. They were slowly standing up, their identical movements weary and cautious, as if approaching a wounded yet deadly animal.

“Sif, please,” the Loki on her right called out, holding his hand out towards her. “Give me the dagger. My aim is truer than yours.”

“Do not listen to him, Sif,” the other Loki pleaded. “He is the dragon and will kill us both.”

With her sword in one hand, the dagger in the other, Sif looked again between them. She was the only one armed and yet the only one unsure which Loki proved false. The first Loki was right; his aim was superior to hers. If she threw the dagger towards him, he could use it to further wound the dragon. Sif knew it must be considerably weak, if its only defence now lay in trickery and disguise. This could be their only way to finally defeat this formidable dragon.

Yet if she chose the wrong Loki, the dagger would just as easily be turned against her. It would be too late for them and perhaps their friends as well, still unaware of this new danger. The dragon had fooled her twice already tonight and she could not risk it fooling her again. Her fingers tightened around her weapons and her feet itched to move, to fight. But she did not know her enemy and all she could do was look helplessly between them as they slowly walked towards her, eyes pleading.

“Sif,” they both called out again, the left echoing the right. “I am the real Loki.”

It reminded Sif of the games Loki had played through the centuries, creating duplicate images of himself and trying to fool her and Thor. His clones knew no end of mischief, but over the years she had learnt how to distinguish the real prince. It was all in the eyes. His clones had never been able to hold quite the same complexity as the real Loki. The magic was never quite powerful enough to mirror the many thoughts and emotions he always held at bay, buried within his eyes. Sif looked intently into their eyes now, searching for something, _anything,_ to reveal the true Loki.

Their eyes were both a rich emerald green, blazing and pleading anxiously, entreating her to believe them. Yet through the shifting moonlight drifting down through the trees, Sif was sure she saw something more in the eyes of the Loki on her right. Something that made her heart skip a beat and a shiver run across her skin. The eyes were intense, insistent and she found herself caught in their complexity for a moment. A thousand shared memories seemed to dance across their rich expanse of green, a connection and understanding within them she could not describe.

The emeralds in her palm grow warmer, brighter. The magic within these emeralds was special, Loki had said, his voice full of pride as he had gifted it to her many centuries ago. Only those Loki allowed could wield it, the dagger would not obey anyone else. And only the Loki on her right had asked for it…

“Sif,” the Loki on her right called to her again, closer now, a scant few feet between them. The voice was so achingly familiar that it made her chest burn. It overrode her reason and she tossed him the dagger, uttering a quiet prayer to great Yggdrasil that Loki’s words proved true. And that the dragon’s magic was not too powerful to overcome it.

 


	17. Chapter 17

There was a blinding flash of emerald light as the hilt of the dagger landed in Loki’s outstretched palm. Another streak of green followed its arch across the path as it travelled towards his adversary. It landed perfectly in the chest of the other Loki, piercing deeply into his heart.

A scream filled the forest. One thick with pain and suffering. A sound so human it shook Sif to her very core. She watched in horror as the second Loki fell to his knees, both hands reaching to clutch the dagger tightly. In the silver moonlight, Sif could see a dark mark flowing out from the wound, staining the torn cloth red. “What have you done, Sif?” He cried, his face twisted with pain and his voice already growing weak. “What have you done?”

What had she done? With the echo of his scream still reverberating through her, Sif could not be sure. Her own thoughts had been ripped apart by the cry and her arm shook, the blade falling until the sharp edge hit the ground. She had to go to him, she could not watch him suffer. She had taken one step forwards before she forced her feet still. _No_. This was not the real Loki. It could not be. Could it? Suddenly, Sif could not be sure, everything that had seemed so clear a heartbeat ago had fractured and distorted in her mind. Terror ripped through the cracks and she looked upon the injured Loki in horror. The blade had pierced his chest deeply, cutting through into his heart. The blow would prove fatal, if he did not get help soon. Again, her feet started forwards, panic overriding her reason for a fraction of a heartbeat.

“No Sif! Do not go near it!” A familiar voice shouted from behind her. It stilled her footsteps and she spun around towards it in surprise. Loki was approaching her, his movements still slow, cautious, but alarm flashed across his features. Loki held his hand out towards her, as if beckoning her closer. “You must kill it.”

Kill it? Yes, kill it. The dragon. But which Loki could it be? Sif blinked at this second Loki, her mind struggling to hold enough pieces together to process what she saw. The two Loki’s were still near identical, one the real Prince of Asgard, the other the dragon trying to kill them. And one still stood, strong, whilst the other was dying before her.

She had been so certain this Loki spoke the truth. But now her conviction had been ripped away with the cries of the other, shattering her heart as if the very blade had struck her own. The dagger had obeyed this Loki’s command, yet why did the other not change into its stronger form, now it had been beaten? Frantically, she searched his eyes for the certainty she had found just a few moments ago, but all she saw was the emerald glow shining brightly, pleading with her.

“Sif please... Help me... Sif...” The howl came from behind her and she turned back towards the injured Loki. He was still on his knees, the dagger falling limply from his blood soaked fingers. The rich light of the emeralds looked almost sickly now against the vivid red dripping down the hilt. Sif watched as a few drops hit the floor, draining away into the undergrowth. Loki’s life, slipping away before her eyes. Her feet started forwards before she even realised she had moved.

“Kill it, Sif!” The other Loki shouted from beside her, voice flooded with alarm. “Cut off its head!”

Once more, the familiar voice startled Sif, cutting through the haze and terror that clouded her mind whenever she looked upon the injured Loki. She spun around in surprise, her sword following her. It cut through the earth and tangled in the undergrowth. It caught, pulling her arm backwards. The Loki now before her glanced down at her weapon, before raising his eyes to her face. Green searched out hazel and Sif found herself caught in his gaze. His eyes were pleading with her, once more flooded with a thousands memories scattered throughout the centuries. They seemed to pull her towards them, trying to drown her in their emerald depths.  

“You must kill it, Sif.” His voice was quieter this time, deeper; firm and persuasive as he entreated her to believe him. “Cut off its head whilst it is too weak to change. It is the only sure way to kill a dragon”

Cautiously, he stepped closer towards her, but the movement still surprised Sif. It seemed to shake her awake and she pulled her eyes away from the emotions within his gaze. They flickered before her, uncertainty clouding them a moment, quickly followed by annoyance and desperation.

“Sif.” His voice has grown harsher now, demanding and pressurising her, “You have to kill it. Quickly. ”

Kill it, that was what Loki wanted. And what the dragon would want too. A quick victory, whilst its enemy was still weak.

Her eyes narrowed at him, a scowl spreading across her lips as her trust drained away. She wrenched the sword up from the undergrowth and held it between them, preventing Loki from coming any closer. Angrily she turned back towards the injured Loki and immediately she felt her thoughts clear. She recognised traces of magic now and released with alarm the dragon was still trying to cloud her judgement and fool her. But which Loki did it come from? Her eyes once more flashed between them, but she still could not be sure which Loki proved false. They were starting to approach her, their slow movements seeming almost menacing to her.     

She clenched her fingers tight around the sword, drawing forth her determination as a warrior of Asgard. She would slay this dragon. She would not lose her home its Prince. She raised the sword higher, holding the sharp blade out towards the two figures. They both stopped, looking uncertain for a moment, glances crossing between them.

The first Loki looked warily at her weapon, his eyes flashing in alarm. A glimmer of a smirk spread across the eyes of the other, a flare of triumph. Sif felt magic trying to seep into her thoughts again, but she pushed it away and regarded both Loki’s coldly.

“Sif, please. Listen to me.” The Loki on her right began pleading with her again, his voice soft yet commanding. “You must cut off its head. It is the only way to kill a dragon.”

“No, Sif!” The injured Loki wailed, the suffering that filled his voice ripping through to her soul, “You must help me.”

She turned back towards the second Loki. One hand was now on the ground, the other still holding the dagger in its limp grip. He started crawling towards her again, his features distorted by agony and his eyes pleading. “Help me, Sif. Please.”

He did not have much time left. Already Sif could see how much blood the prince had lost. He needed help, fast. Her feet started to move forwards, called by the pain in his voice and the fear in her heart.

“You must kill it, Sif.” Once more she was stopped by the commanding voice of the first Loki. He was so close now that when Sif spun around towards him, Loki had to jump out of her way to avoid the sword that arched around between him. She continued to hold it out towards him, preventing him from coming any closer. “You must listen to me, Sif. Please.”

“Please, Sif! Listen to me!” The other Loki echoed the same entreaty, his voice a faint howl. The emeralds in the dagger were growing a sickly yellow now, their glow fading as if the very magic within was being drawn out of them.

“Sif, you must be quick! Already the dragon is recovering!” The voice of the first Loki was filled with fear now and he rushed forwards. Only Sif’s sword once more swinging around between them prevented him from reaching her. He eyed the sword cautiously, before his eyes flickered up towards her. There was a challenge in them now, a ruthlessness and determination. Sif held her sword tighter, her muscles tensing in preparation.

He caught the fierceness in her own gaze and paused, his eyes regarding her shrewdly, assessing her. Then, he seemed to relent, his body relaxing into submission, though his eyes remained determined. She had fought Loki countless times over the centuries, usually they were well matched and the outcome of any fight between them uncertain. But Loki had never been a fool; he knew how to read his opponents well. The years had surely taught him when her ire was beyond reason and her determination would not be shaken.

His reluctance to fight her now surprised Sif. Surely the dragon would not know such intricate details it had taken Loki years to master? Yet it had invaded her thoughts earlier, examined her heart and disguised itself as Loki. How could she be sure that everything it did was not merely a reflection of what she expected of it? And if the dragon could read her thoughts, perhaps it could read Loki’s too, see the strategy of his adversary and cloud their judgements further.

“Sif, please. Kill it and we can both go free.” Loki’s voice was soft now, almost a whisper in her ear as he stepped closer once more, avoiding the point of her sword. He made it sound so easy, but her sword felt heavy in her palm then, a burden she did not want to carry. She knew the fate of them all rested on her, but how could she trust her judgement now? If she chose the wrong Loki then he would be lost to her forever. Her chest tightened at the thought of losing him.

No. She could not do it. She could not risk striking the blow that would cost Asgard its Prince. She had to be sure. She looked at her sword, examining the blade closely. It flashed in the moonlight, leaving afterimages of green and yellow which danced before her eyes. Her fingers loosened around its hilt and the blade slowly began to fall towards the ground.

Then, there was a flicker of movement in the corner of her eye. A flash of claws in the moonlight. Her eyes whipped around towards the injured Loki as the first suddenly banged into her, knocking her to one side and upsetting her balance. Her sword was wrenched from her grip. A flash of pain shot across her abdomen, but before she had chance to find its source, a flash of green filled her vision. It was coming from her sword, glowing a rich emerald in the moonlight. The first Loki swung it towards the second and the blade struck his neck.

Time stood still for a moment. Sif’s heart stopped beating and her breath choked in her throat. Her eyes found themselves caught in the stare of the second Loki, their depths filled with pain and suffering and betrayal so acute it took all of Sif’s strength not to crumple. A wave of agony and loss ploughed into her as she looked on in horror as the Loki before her slowly fell to the ground, his eyes flickering shut.

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

Thor and the Warriors Three had nearly reached camp before they became aware of something amiss. They spoke little, their thoughts easily growing distracted as they followed the moonlit path. Fandral and Volstagg's thoughts reached far ahead, to the glistening feast that would greet them on their victorious return to Asgard. Volstagg could already taste the succulent meats and the honeyed desserts and Fandral was already practicing the flattering words he would whisper in a fine maiden's ear. Thor and Hogun's thoughts reached only as far as the coming dawn and the battle that awaited them. Thor’s hand tightened around Mjölnir, itching to wield it as the glories of victory consumed his thoughts. Already he could imagine striking the final blow and holding its severed head high against the red sky of dawn. Hogun's thoughts were less ambitious and arrogant, turned instead towards strategy and analysis. The great beast had nearly defeated them before and Hogun's mind was focused on remembering its weaknesses, and their own.

“Will it not be a glorious sight, brother,” Thor proclaimed into the silence, his thoughts now racing ahead to Asgard, “when we return home with such a trophy. To think, we started this adventure only with hopes of returning with an ogre or troll! I can just see the look on father's face!” Here he paused in his exultations, waiting for the usual derisive comment from his brother. When none came he glanced behind him, his own teasing words at his brother's silence already on his tongue. The words dried in his throat as abruptly as his feet stopped in their journey. “Loki?” He asked, his quiet voice resonating loudly in the eerie, anxious silence that had befallen them all. His friends had also stopped their relaxed strides and now each searched the dark forest for any sign of their friends.

“Where are they?” Fandral asked, his hand automatically reaching for the hilt of his sword. The path twisted away into the darkness, the moonlight casting disorienting shadows across its way. But Sif and Loki could not be found.

“Loki!” Thor hissed, his voice edged with panic. He half expected the trickster to jump out of the shadows and for his brother's laughter to ring in his ears. Silence. He looked anxiously at his friends, saw the same concern flashing in their eyes. Loki might pull a trick like this, but not Sif...

As one, the four Ǽsir suddenly raced forwards, weapons drawn and caring little for the racket they made. They hurtled down the path and skidded around the twisted corners, nothing slowing their movements.

Suddenly they found them. Their feet stopped so abruptly it was only their warrior instincts that prevented them from smashing into each other. But they had no time for jibes or laughter at their foolishness. Each was too consumed with horror at the scene that confronted them. Sif was standing as still as a statue, looking down at the ground before her. Her face was ashen white, her eyes large and fearful and her body trembled slightly. Loki stood beside her, his hands clutching her sword, the blade flashing an eerie emerald green in the silver moonlight. They followed his gaze to the ground below, a shocked gasp escaping them all. For on the ground lay a second Loki, his limbs twisted beneath him at an unnatural angle. The flickering moonlight showed a dark red stain across the black tunic of his chest and beside him lay Sif's dagger, the emerald hilt still pulsating with a vivid intensity. His head was tilted backwards, emerald eyes fallen open and staring blankly at the dark sky. A faint smirk distorted his lips, as if even in death he had found mischief and victory. And each knew death had reached him, for the head lay severed from the neck, separated by the crimson and white of blood and bone.

Thor was the first to break the deathly silence, his loud, commanding voice booming around the path. “What happened here?”

Sif and Loki turned around slowly, only now consciously aware of their friends behind them. Their movements were cautious, as if awakening from a dream. Only it was no dream, but a living nightmare and each knew the twisted figure of Loki's dead body would haunt them forever. But it was not Loki. It could not be. Could it?

With great care, Sif kept her eyes averted from him as she turned towards Thor. The image of Loki lying dead still filled her vision and she had to blink several times before she could focus on her friend. Thor's face was thunderous, the anger barely concealing his underlying grief and horror. Mjölnir was held tightly in his hand, the hammer high by his side and ready to strike. Her lips parted as she tried to find the words to explain, but her throat was dry and no words came to her.

“The dragon took my form in the clearing,” Loki explained, his voice weary, strained. Sif found her eyes flickering instinctively towards him. His face was pale and his head was downcast, back hunched as if he no longer had the energy to stand. But his voice had brought him the attention of his friends and with a visible effort he raised his head. For just a moment, Sif caught his eyes before a mask of indifference covered his features. They had been full of horror and pain and a loss so profound that even the great boughs of Yggdrasil herself could not fill them. And it was in that moment, lasting only a heartbeat, that Sif _knew_. It was the dragon that lay at her feet, slain by its mirror image. _Loki_. Sif thought of her own horror then, of the pain and sadness that had ripped through her heart as he had fallen before her. She could not even begin to imagine how much more horrifying it would be for Loki, to see a perfect replica of himself die at his own hand.

Yet when Loki spoke again, his voice was stronger, pride and determination pushing away such a horror. “It impersonated me and fooled you all.” He swallowed imperceptibly, his gaze flickering momentarily towards her, before falling away just as quick. He straightened further before he continued, “Sif did not know it was still the dragon and it tried to attack her.”

“But Loki saved my life,” Sif added, as much to herself as to her friends. She remembered the pain of claws slicing into her skin and shivered slightly. The wounds on her back and chest throbbed at the movement, but she did her best to continue to ignore them.

Loki looked as if he were about to continue, a hard edge stealing the usual smirk from his expression. But it was Hogun’s voice that spoke first, the familiar grimness of his tone deepening into mistrust. “How do we know you are not still the dragon.”

“Aye!” Fandral agreed, stepping forwards, his sword raised slightly, angled towards Loki. “He could still be the dragon, waiting to kill us all.”

“We should ask him something only Loki would know!” Volstagg added.

With a sigh, Loki relinquished the sword still in his hand to Sif. It was a sign of his compliance and authenticity, but his friends still eyed him suspiciously. Their gazes followed the sword, fingers tightening on their own weapons. But Loki held the blade carefully, his fingers loose and far from the hilt. He did not look at her and Sif kept her own gaze fixed on the sword. She took the hilt firmly in her hand and he let go of the blade instantly, pulling back and straightening his body away from her. The hilt was still warm from Loki’s touch and she sheathed it quickly, a visible show of trust towards Loki. And if her fingertips still brushed the hilt of the sword, it was not from any anxiety of needing to wield it. Her friends were not as trusting. They were waiting impatiently for Loki to answer them.

At length he did, “I doubt that would prove useful, as dragons which possess the power to shapeshift tend to possess the power of mind reading as well.” His voice was disdainful, almost indifferent, but it was edged with a lethargy he could not fully conceal.

The words brought recent memories to the forefront of her mind and Sif could not stop herself from glancing towards him. His eyes remained fixed resolutely on their friends, but she saw a glimmer of uncertainty seep into his voice and expression. It lasted barely a heartbeat, but Sif wondered if he thought of her.

Their friends did not notice, too busy processing the implications behind Loki’s words. It was several moments before Hogun ventured to ask the question plaguing them all. “Then how can we be certain you are indeed Loki Odinson?”

“You cannot, I am afraid, though perhaps…” Loki paused and looked down at the body on the ground beside him. There was a faint yellow light illuminating the corpse now. As they watched, it grew brighter, almost blinding them and through it they could see the outline of the body changing. The limbs distorted and the severed head grew, twisting and contorting into the hideous, snarling face of the dragon. With quick reflexes they jumped back, away from its growing bulk. The sickly light now flooded the pathway and spilled into the dark trees beyond. Then, suddenly, it vanished, leaving the air crackling and the Ǽsir blinking away the afterglow. The body of the dragon now lay in Loki’s place, the once emerald eyes now a putrid bloodstained yellow and the pale skin now thick with scales.

“…This may convince you.” Loki finished, waving his hands towards the dragon indifferently and turning back to his friends. The other warriors followed his gaze, eyes wide in astonishment.

It was Fandral who recovered the ability to speak first, stepping closer towards the second prince, weapon still drawn and eyes flashing with suspicion. “How do we know this is not all an illusion?”

“Aye!” Volstagg agreed, “He could be using magic to make us see what he wants!”

“We cannot be certain that this is the true Loki.” Hogun nodded grimly.

“Indeed you cannot.” Loki replied in exasperation, before he bent to retrieve the dagger lying beside the great bulk of the dragon. His fingers grasped the hilt and the emeralds flashed brightly at his touch. He stood and slowly turned it around in his palm, as if testing its weight and power. He turned once again to his friends, their eyes watching him closely. “Though it is rather an elaborate ploy, especially for a weakened dragon.”

Volstagg looked about to argue, when Thor stepped forwards, pushing aside his friends gently. He had remained silent until now, his face white and his eyes anxious, flickering between the body on the ground and Loki by its side. It only occurred to Sif then how painful this must be for Thor, to have seen his brother lying dead and to be uncertain if the vision proved true. As he turned to address his friends though, his stood straighter, his posture now every inch the crown Prince of Asgard. “We have heard enough.” His voice was low, but it resonated like thunder through the air. He looked between his friends, gaze fierce and unyielding. “Loki has proved that this is no illusion and it is the dragon, not my… brother,” his voice wavered for a moment and he swallowed thickly, “that lies dead.”

“But how can we be certain,” Hogun asked, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant.

“I agree,” Fandral began, but a thunderous look suddenly crossed Thor’s face and his friends shifted uncomfortably.

“Do you think I do not know my own brother?”

The Warriors Three glanced between them anxiously. They all knew of Thor’s reluctance to believe Loki had truly perished, but though the sorrow plagued them all, they were not as quick to believe in the ideal and ignore the potential danger. Nor were they quite as afflicted with guilt from not recognising the dragon’s disguise before. Eventually Volstagg found the courage to question his Prince, “But Thor, you were fooled by the dragon before, as were we all. Perhaps…”

Thor cut him off quickly, Mjölnir swinging around aggressively before he gripped it firmly in both hands. “I did not know to be cautious then. Now I am aware of the dragon’s tricks and I can assure you, this _is_ my brother, Loki.”

Nervous glances still passed between the Warriors Three, though this time their protests remained silent. Loki had watched the discussion quietly, his face drawn into a tight, unreadable line, though his eyes imperceptibly flickered between Thor and the warriors. 

“What about Sif?” Hogun eventually dared to ask. “As a witness to what happened, perhaps she can vouch for Loki?”

Another look of anger flashed across Thor’s face, but the only answer he gave was to turn towards her. The eyes of the other Ǽsir followed, looking at her expectantly.

“I…” Sif began, acutely aware of all eyes upon her and unsure of what to say. She had deliberately remained silent, too embarrassed to venture into the discussion and risk any probing questions. But now she had no choice but to answer and she thought carefully before she spoke. Sif knew her friends trusted her judgement, usually implacable and sound, and she could not risk the dragon fooling her thrice.  But the emerald hilt of the dagger still flashed brightly in Loki’s palm, a rich, vivid green and not a weak, fetid yellow. And Sif could not forget the look of distress in his eyes as his mirror image had fallen beneath his sword. She risked a quick glance at Loki’s face, but he was still ignoring her, his eyes never once reaching her. It merely confirmed her belief. The Loki in the clearing had been openly mocking her, using his magic to cloud and distort her thoughts. There was no magic in the air now, no shiver of mischief or malice in the faint breeze. Her thoughts remained her own. And now Loki was too embarrassed to even look at her.

She swallowed down the brief despair that flickered across her mind and answered her friends with conviction. “Yes. It is Loki.”

Sif braced herself for more questions, but thankfully none ever came. The fury on Thor’s face was split apart by a grin and he thumped his brother on the back in his mirth. “That he is. That he is.”

The pain from the impact swam momentarily in Loki’s eyes, but Thor was no longer paying attention. Already he was walking towards the dragon and reaching for its severed head. He raised it high into the air in triumph. “And what a prize he has won for Asgard! Loki the dragon slayer!” He looked towards his friends and the Warriors Three nodded in acquiescence. They had broached no further arguments, accepting Sif’s pronouncement in relief.

“Father will be proud of you, Loki. This will look magnificent in the great hall of the palace.”

Sif shivered at his words. She hoped the Allfather would find a less frequented place to hang the trophy. She could not imagine looking upon it everyday, a continual reminder of her shame, embarrassment and horror.

Still holding the head of the giant beast, Thor brushed past his friends and began to walk along the path. After a few steps he called over his shoulder, “Come friends. We travel back to camp and Asgard at first light. We will need plentiful sleep before for the feast that will await us.”

His friends automatically fell into step behind him and automatically Sif turned towards Loki, a grin on her face at his brother’s conceitedness. No familiar smirk met her this time though; Loki’s eyes remained fixed ahead, upon his brother and the great head he carried.

“Aye! It will truly be a magnificent feast.” Volstagg agreed, turning towards Fandral beside him.

“Indeed! Though I doubt we will have dragon on the menu.”

“I do hope not, they are supposed to be awfully chewy.” Volstagg looked behind him, at the carcass of the dragon disappearing away into the distance. “And I do not fancy carrying that giant beast back to the Bifrost site.”

Sif followed behind her friends, paying little attention to their overzealous chatter. Their spirits had quickly returned and though the relief from the tension and horror affected Sif too, she could not find the strength or concentration to participate. Instead she remained quiet and a distance behind them, lost in thought and grateful that their mirth distracted their attention. Unwillingly, her eyes glanced ahead towards Loki. He had not spoken and remained close to his brother, slipping past the Warriors Three and creating a barrier between them. His head was bowed and Sif wondered if his thoughts strayed to her. He could not doubt her feelings towards him now and though before she had dreaded any encounter, now she longed for the opportunity to clear the tension between them. Yet in avoiding her, he had made his own feelings abundantly clear and Sif was too embarrassed to press him. And so she followed silently behind her friends, her heart weary and her thoughts consumed with broken dreams, and fears for what the future now held for her.

 

 


	19. Chapter 19

The walk back to camp took far longer than Loki expected. He was growing annoyed at the ideal chatter of the Warriors Three behind and the flow of exuberant compliments from Thor. At least Thor only required the occasional response, leaving Loki otherwise alone with his thoughts. Though perhaps distraction may have been preferable, for the thoughts that ricocheted around his mind were distressing and frustrating. Despite his efforts to sort through them logically, to push them away and dwell on them no more, they continued to haunt him. Images, words, questions. No matter how he tried to force the vision away, he could not stop seeing Sif kissing him in his mind. Only it had not been _him_ , it had been the dragon. The powerful dragon who had bewitched her. And he was uncomfortably aware of Sif behind him, of her eyes glancing towards him and her own, continual silence. He feared what kept her tongue still and her eyes upon him. Her behaviour showed her embarrassment, and her shame at being tricked by the dragon. Her pride would no doubt suffer great injury, for she had not only been fooled by the enemy, but unable to strike its lethal blow.

Her gaze upon him was heavy, concerned and he suspected she was afraid of what he had witnessed. That he may imagine there to be feelings involved, attraction and perhaps even love. She had nothing to fear. Loki was not fooled by the dragon’s trickery. Sif had been held within its spell, her thoughts and feelings clouded by its magic until she would not know herself. Loki had felt the strength of the dragon’s magic, knew it to have confused even him and tricked his brother and friends. He did not doubt that the beast had bewitched her, forced feelings upon her so it could lure its prey deeper into its trap. The beast had simply taken his form because he was the nearest presence to them in the forest. And yet…

No! He pushed those thoughts aside, those doubts. His fingers clenched into fists. He was no fool. He knew better than to even hope the beautiful, valiant Lady Sif would see him as anything more than her friend’s brother. She was strong, brave, striking, heralded as one of Asgard’s greatest treasures. She would never be interested in him when she had Thor and Fandral and so many of the warriors in Asgard to choose from. No, Lady Sif need not fear. He would not imagine feelings where he knew none to exist.

Yet he longed to speak to her about what he had seen, to reassure her that he did not suspect her of any partiality towards him. But though the words twisted around his mind continuously, his silver tongue failed him. He feared how she would react, should he remind her of her folly. He feared he may even reveal his own feelings; that perhaps he already had. She had caught him watching them, had looked into his eyes. Had she seen his own feelings there, usually kept so deeply buried? Was that why she remained silent and kept her distance from him?

When the camp finally came into sight, Loki sighed with relief and quickly headed towards his sleeping area. He was anxious for both rest and concealment from the eyes of his friends. He could not help spare a quick glance at Sif as she approached her own sleeping area, leaning down to upturn the fallen bench. The thick branch lay across her path and appeared to have been knocked over. The fire still glowed dimly and many items lay scattered around; evidence of the haste his comrades had deserted their camp in.

A grimace of pain flashed across her features as she bent down. Even though she quickly stifled it, the light from the dying fire shone upon her face and revealed all to those who watched.

“Are you sure you are alright, Sif?” Thor asked, concerned.

“Of course! I am fine, Thor. Thank you.” She raised her head as she spoke, standing with her back straight as she looked defiantly towards her Prince. But in the firelight, Loki could clearly see the blood staining her tunic, the deep gashes visible across her shoulders. It confirmed Loki’s suspicions; she had been severely wounded by the dragon. He pushed down a tremor of guilt. He had not confronted her, had not challenged her earlier assurances. For fear of wounding her fierce warrior’s pride, but also to face her, after what had so recently passed between them.

Thor had no such scruples about upsetting the great Sheildmaiden’s pride. “You are clearly not fine, Sif. Those cuts look deep and you are still bleeding.” He looked back towards his brother, “Let Loki aid you, his magic can help heal your wounds.”

“I am fine, Thor. It is a trifling graze I can tend to myself.” Unconsciously Sif touched her blood stained tunic. The blood was still warm, wet as it soaked into her fingers. A stab of pain shot through her, awakening the many injuries she had sustained this night. But she held the pain behind her eyes, did not let Thor see her flinch. “Loki has his own wounds to heal. He has sustained much worse than I.”

Once more Thor glanced back towards his brother, eyes searching for the truth within Sif’s words. If the concern that flashed across his face was any indication, Loki knew his own appearance must be quite alarming. But whatever magic he did have spare, Sif needed it more than he. He raised his eyes towards her, looked into them for the first time since they had fought the dragon. They were hard, defiant as always, but he noticed a silent plea within them. She did not want Loki’s help and, given the circumstances, Loki was averse to provide it. Yet he pushed aside his own misgivings; her health and recovery were far more important. “I have enough magic to heal both of us.”

His words were only a small lie, and were enough to placate Thor. Once more his brother turned towards Sif. “We have a long walk back to the Bifrost site tomorrow, and the remainder of the night ahead. You cannot hope to make it unless you allow Loki to tend to your wounds.”

Sif continued to watch them, gaze fierce, but matched by the two Princes of Asgard. At length she nodded reluctantly, quickly turning away from them and seating herself on the bench.

The Warriors Three had watched the exchange silently, already prepared to lend their support to their Princes had the Lady Sif not acquiesced. Now they too seated themselves by the fire, picking up the fallen cups and makeshift benches, stoking the embers back into life.

Loki watched them for several moments, anxiety creeping through his thoughts. But he had little choice and took his place beside Sif. She was turned away from him, eyes staring hard into the awakening flames.

“Sif.” His voice was gentle, hesitant, willing Sif to understand this was not his choice, either.

Still staring into the fire, she held her hand out towards him. Her arm held firm, but Loki felt her hand tremble slightly as he wrapped his fingers around hers. He kept his touch gentle, unobtrusive and methodical. Touch was required for the magic to heal and the greater the contact, the stronger it became. With a deep breath, he pushed his own thoughts aside, forced himself to ignore the way her fingers felt in his and focused on the spell. The words came quickly and he whispered them under his breath, more for show than necessity.

A gasp tore from Sif’s lips as she felt Loki’s magic push into her. It felt warm and familiar and so intimately Loki. It was far from the first time he had healed her with his spells. The feel of his magic running through her veins was not new to her. But this situation was and what had so recently passed between them hung heavily in the air around them. She knew she should relax, allow the magic to flow through her and heal, but she feared if she relaxed she would succumb; betray herself to her friends as well as Loki. But she need not have feared, they took her gasp to be one of pain and flinched sympathetically for her. They watched with concern in their eyes as the soft emerald light of Loki’s magic washed over her hand, along her arm. She tried not to squirm under their intense, anxious eyes, tried not to focus too deeply on the warmth of Loki’s magic, pushing away the pain. Already she could feel the cells within her healing, the muscles relaxing and the aches easing. The deep cuts were starting to close, but Sif knew the spell was not as powerful as it was meant to be. Loki’s magic was too depleted. Usually he would just hold her hand and heal all of her, the magic working quickly as it spread through her being and healed all her ailments. But this time the green light was starting to fade, lessening in its warmth and intensity. Her wounds were healing too slowly, the magic barely reaching past her arm now. Sif glanced towards Loki anxiously. His eyes were focused on her hand, determination marking his features. His lips moved quickly, repeating the words of the spell. He did not show it, but Sif knew the cost this magic was having upon him and quickly pulled her hand away.

Loki looked up, surprised and for just a moment Sif caught his eye and saw a flash of regret flow through them. And something else, something Sif could not name, but which made her heart pound suddenly, unexpectedly. They both looked away, eyes searching out the depths of the fire, now burning brightly after the ministrations of the Warriors Three. They looked at her in alarm, questions already on their tongues. Sif answered them first, anxious to avoid any probing questions. “Loki’s magic is too weak; he used it all to help fight the dragon.”

“It is fine!” Loki replied defensively. He was holding his hand in the other, turning them over as if savouring her recent touch. Sif glanced down at her own hands and realised her actions mirrored his. Her fingers stopped abruptly, a second later than Loki’s.

“You need rest!” Sif answered back, her own voice growing defensive. “You have already used enough magic to save my life tonight.”

A protest was already on Loki’s lips, but Thor was the first to speak, “Indeed brother, Sif is right. A few minutes will do no harm, will it, Sif?”

“A whole night will do no harm!” Sif retorted.

Her friends ignored her and Loki was again about to protest. His magic had revealed the full severity of her injuries, and they were far worse than he had suspected. Though he had stemmed the bleeding, he did not want to wait and rest whilst Sif suffered further. Before he could voice his protests, a bowl of stew was thrust under his nose by Volstagg. The meat was slightly charred, but the sight of it made his mouth water. It was leftover stew, abandoned when they had eaten their fill earlier and now reheated by the awakened fire. Perhaps his brother was right, rest and food would help replenish his energy and his magic.

It was difficult to eat the stew slowly, for he had not realised how hungry he had become. But Loki was not as undignified as Thor or the Warriors Three, who gulped it down ravenously. He was not aware of how they all watched him until he had finished his stew. For a moment Loki feared they still doubted him, but he pushed it aside and instead assumed they were waiting for him to continue healing Sif.

Before he had chance to seek her permission again, Thor spoke, his voice curious. “Loki, you have still not told us the full story of what happened?”

The question surprised Loki and he glanced between them quickly. They were all wearing the same eager, curious expression, except Sif. She continued to watch the flames dance, her face hard, body growing tense at Thor’s question. In the flickering firelight, Loki could not be sure if Sif’s cheeks grew red in embarrassment. He paused, placed his bowl down carefully and pushed aside the lingering memories that threatened to consume him.

“There is little still to tell,” he eventually replied, his face a mask of indifference and his voice collected, though the inquisitive eyes of his friends made it hard to remain composed. “I became unconscious when the dragon knocked me into the trees. When I awakened, the clearing was empty. I knew something was amiss, as Thor would not have left me otherwise.”

“Nor any of us!” Fandral interrupted defensively, the others nodding in agreement.

Loki ignored Fandral’s protest, not wishing to contemplate his words too deeply. “I could hear no sound of any further battle and, as my magic had become too depleted to search the forest, I had no choice but to follow the path.”

Here he paused, remembering what he had encountered on the path. The dragon, in his form, asking Sif if she had any feelings for him and declaring his own. She had remained silent, but had not pushed his mirror image away when he had moved closer to kiss her… Quickly, Loki forced that memory away. She was clearly bewitched again, unable to answer and to act rationally.

“I found Sif on the path, talking to the dragon. It had taken my form. I was not quick enough, the dragon attacked her.” Another pause as he pushed away a tremor of guilt. He had waited too long to come to her aid. He had watched, waited in the shadows to hear her reply. “She could not be certain which of us proved true, so I took her sword and killed the dragon. The rest is as you saw.”

“He saved my life,” Sif added once more. There were many things she longed to thank him for, but her shame and embarrassment stilled her tongue. Yet she could express her gratitude on this point at least. “The dragon would have surely killed me long before you first reached us, had it not been for Loki.”

As she spoke, Sif saw a flicker of emotion cross Loki’s features, but whether it was from anger or annoyance at her words, or something else, she could not tell. He had reason enough to be displeased with her, for he had suffered much this night due to her own folly. She swallowed thickly and once more cast her gaze into the depths of the fire. The dance of yellow and orange and red was soothing, distracting, even if it did remind her of the dragon’s fierce flames.

“Indeed, Loki has saved us all and defeated the great dragon!” Thor’s voice was proud once more, eagerly joining in Sif’s praise. “And it is surely time to rest. We have a long walk ahead of us tomorrow, and it will not be long now until dawn.”

At the mention of rest, Thor looked towards his brother, concern once more lining his features. “Loki…” he began, but his brother interrupted him.

“I am fine, Thor!” His voice was sharper than he intended and, to placate his brother’s deepening worry, he hastily added, “I have enough magic to continue healing Sif. And myself.”

Loki glanced towards the warrior as he spoke. She was still looking intensely into the flames, as if they possessed the answers to the deepest mysteries of great Yggdrasil herself. She nodded in silent permission, but did not turn to look at any of them.

“Then please do what you can. And make sure you both have adequate rest.”

“Yes, Thor.” Loki replied, the light sarcasm in his voice winning him a small smile from his brother. With a more relaxed countenance, Thor nodded at the Warriors Three, who he knew would follow, and made his way to the far side of the camp where their bedding lay.

With a nod, Loki watched as his comrades left the fireside. He could think of no excuses for them to stay, but he felt their absence acutely. After all that had occurred between them this night, he feared what would happen now that they had left him completely alone with Sif.


	20. Chapter 20

The moment their friends had retreated, the atmosphere in the camp changed. Without the joviality of Thor and the inquisitiveness of the Warriors Three, there were no distractions for them. And both sorely needed distractions.

It was many moments before Loki turned towards Sif with much trepidation in his mind. For it had been difficult enough with the commotion of their friends. Now they were completely on their own.

“Sif?” He asked, voice gentle.

“Are you sure you have magic enough, Loki?” She turned to look at him now, pushing down the rush of guilt she felt. Once more he must come to her aid, at great cost to himself. “My wounds are nearly healed. They will cause me no further trouble and I can certainly wait until we reach Asgard.”

“I have enough!” His voice was low, but Sif could hear the annoyance and wounded pride in his voice. “My healing spells may not be as powerful as that of the palace healers, but it will be more than enough to provide sufficient relief from your injuries.”

“I do not need any help, or relief!”

“On the contrary, Sif, I fear your wounds are worse than you think.”

Her face soured, but she argued no more, averting her eyes to the dancing flames. After a few moments, she held her hand out towards Loki. He took it gingerly, threading his fingers through hers as if afraid she would break.

This time, Sif managed to suppress her gasp as Loki’s magic pushed into her skin. It was stronger this time, more intense and Sif felt it run through her body rapidly. There was a haste to it, an urgency and Sif looked towards Loki in alarm. He was looking down at her hand intently, his face determined and his lips a hard, unmoving line. Yet he looked weak, tired and Sif suspected he was putting all his little remaining energy into healing her as quickly as he could. For a moment, she considered arguing with him, but decided it would be of little use without her friends here to support her. Loki would only insist he was alright and Sif did not have the energy or the inclination to argue with him again. No doubt he wanted to heal her as quickly as possible so he could retire for the night, leave her be and forget about all that had happened between them. Sif could not argue with him on that score. It was uncomfortable and humiliating to be so reliant on Loki, forced to be healed by his magic as he had been all but forced to heal her.

Yet despite her reservations, the magic was incredibly soothing, taking away the pain and healing her wounds. She had not realised how many she had sustained this night until she felt her body recovering from them, so accustomed had she grown to ignoring any injuries in a fight.

The magic was also having other effects on her body, as it ran like warm honey and molten silver through her. Effects she was trying unsuccessfully to ignore. She could feel _him_ in the magic, like a thousands gentle fingertips brushing against her skin. It whispered against her soul, heating the blood in her veins and commanding her senses. Whenever he had healed her with magic before, she had been able to suppress the effects it had upon her. But after the Dragon’s tricks and their fierce battle, she was too tired, too physically _aware_ of him to ignore it now. She could almost taste him on her tongue and it brought back memories of what had happened earlier this night. She knew it had been only the dragon. Not Loki. Never Loki. But as his magic overwhelmed her, she let her eyes slip closed and allowed herself to imagine, for those few fleeting moments, it had been the real Loki.

Loki did not watch her, did not see her eyes close and her lips twist into a faint smile. His attention was focused on her hand, on the words of the spell as his magic did its work. He pushed all his energy into the spell, but still it took too long, her injuries were too severe. He wanted to ease her pain as quickly as he could, to leave her be and disturb her no more. Words of his own mixed with those of the spell, words he longed to tell her. That she need not fear, he would not suspect her of any partiality to him. That she need not concern herself with any feelings he may possess. The words remained in his throat, he was not brave enough to utter them, to add any insult to her or subject her to any more embarrassment between them. So he remained silent and did his best to heal her. Yet her two severest wounds remained unhealed by his magic. It did not penetrate through the deep gashes from the beast’s claws. He pulled his hand away from hers quickly as he felt the dragon’s magic push back at him.

The sudden loss of contact was a hard awakening from her pleasant daydreams and she spun her head around towards him. He was looking down at the ground and did not see the disappointment in her eyes. She watched him silently, not sure what had caused such a sudden withdrawal.

“The dragon’s magic, it…” Loki began, struggling to find his words. The jolt of magic from the wounds unnerved him; it should have died with the dragon. “When its claws cut you, its magic infected your wounds, fighting my own magic as I seek to heal them.”

A wave of alarm flooded through Sif then, and understanding, for the deep cuts across her shoulder and abdomen had felt strange, even to her. But she kept her face impassive, not wanting to trouble him further, for she could hear the anxiety creeping into his voice. “Then I shall wait until we reach Asgard. You have healed them well enough. Thank you, Loki.”

“If the dragon’s magic continues to infect you, Sif, you may not have time to wait until we return to Asgard.”

This time, Sif was unable to hide her distress, but she would not give in as easily as he had supposed, “You have already done enough, Loki.” She reached out, rested her hand upon his in reassurance and gratitude. His fingers felt feverishly hot against hers, but Loki’s gaze fell upon it immediately and Sif pulled her hand away, embarrassed.

“There is yet more I can do, Sif. With your permission.” He did not meet her eyes as he spoke, his voice reluctant, apologetic.

It took less than a heartbeat for Sif to understand his meaning. A different type of magic was required and though she was loathed to take anything more from him, she knew it was pointless to try to argue yet again. With a small nod of permission, Sif turned her back towards him, reaching for her hair which had fallen loose from its band. She pushed it away from her injured shoulder and held her back straight, waiting.

Loki hesitated before he moved towards her, hesitated again as his hands reached towards her wound. Up close, he could see how deep the claws had pierced her skin, how angry and bloodied the wound had become. The poison of the dragon’s magic was preventing it from healing properly and it required attention, immediately. Pushing away the last of his doubts and his own misgivings, he reached towards the wound and gently cleared the torn tunic away, revealing yet more, deeper gashes. He felt her stiffen against his touch, heard her quiet intake of breath. Hastily he moved his hands away and stood, approaching the fire where the last of their food and ale lay. Water would fair better, but they had none left and Loki did not have time to find any. He poured it out into a bowl and blew gently upon it, the ale glowing emerald for a moment.

Silently, Sif watched him, curious and enjoying the opportunity to gaze at him without detection. The feel of his magic still lingered in her veins, whispering along her skin. It was intoxicating and delicious, yet unbearably awkward. The embarrassment and unease Loki had shown towards her confirmed her suspicions. He did not care for her, and was troubled by the feelings she had shown for him. Sif did not want to give Loki any more reason for unease, and quickly averted her eyes towards the fire when he came to sit beside her.

Without a word or a breath, Sif turned her back to him and brushed her hair aside, revealing her wound. There was a ripping sound as Loki tore a piece from his tunic and then the sharp sting as Sif felt warm ale and Loki’s magic seep into her skin. But the magic within the liquid quickly numbed the pain and Loki carefully began to clean her wound. His magic had stemmed the bleeding, but the cuts were still a fierce, angry red, deep and raw. Tentatively, he moved closer towards her, searching for the flicker of the dragon’s magic within the wound. It shimmered briefly, a sickly yellow hiding beneath its glamour, a final, deadly strike from the slain dragon. Gingerly he reached towards the wound, gently sweeping across her shoulder with his fingertips, searching for the spells within this foul magic. She shivered beneath his touch and Loki cursed inwardly. He did not want to hurt her further, but the magic was poisoning her, already seeping further into her blood, awakened by the threat of his own magic. He must act fast, and precisely, he could not afford for his magic to go wrong. After a few moments of probing, Loki let his hands rest completely over the wound and whispered the words of the spell he hoped would save her.

           


	21. Chapter 21

The magic hit her unexpectedly. It was not the gentle, tentative push she was accustomed to, but a powerful spell that struck deep into her wound. There was no pain, but Sif could feel the struggle within her, the battle raging between the two forces of magic. Pushing and pulling at her shoulder with an intensity that left her breathless, trembling. Never had she felt such powerful magic fighting for dominance within her. But she trusted Loki, focused on the familiarity of his touch, his magic, leant back into the feel of his gentle fingers.

The first spells Loki tried did not work. The enchantments were too unfamiliar, the magic too resilient. It fought against Loki’s own magic and he struggled to restrain it. With greater urgency he called forth every spell in his power to destroy, whispering the words in languages as old as Yggdrasil herself. But still it remained. Still it continued to poison the blood in Sif’s veins.

The dragon was slain; its magic should not remain this potent. Yet it was a sorcery he did not recognise, ancient and powerful and Loki did not know how to fight it. Instinctively, he glanced towards the severed head of the great beast. It lay by the fire, a prize and symbol of their conquest. Even in its dragon form, its mouth was twisted into a mischievous sneer, as if it knew even in death it still tormented them. In the firelight, its empty eyes seem to glow vibrantly, a sickening, acidic yellow. Shadows danced behind it, macabre claws and snarling mouths, visions of enemies trapped in the realm of Hel. They came alive in the firelight, as if the dragon itself had risen from the flames, brought to life by the magic still poisoning Sif.

Loki suppressed a shiver and quickly averted his eyes back towards Sif’s wound. The dragon was dead, slain by his own hand and his own enchantments. The spells poisoning Sif’s body would never be powerful enough to revive it. It was impossible. Yet even as he tried to repress the notion, the magic fought back, catching hold of his doubts and taunting him. It played on his guilt, his fears, mocking him, trying to shatter his concentration and diminish his power. It was shimmering brightly now, as if sensing victory as it fought its way deeper into her veins. She was running out of time and Loki knew his magic would not be strong enough without her help.

“Can you sense my magic, Sif?” The sound of his voice startled her. It whispered along her shoulder, across her neck. Deep and determined and breathless, fixed on the magic he wrought. He was close behind her now, scarcely an inch between them and Sif longed to close the distance, to lean back against him and feel more of him across her skin. But she forced her back as straight as she could manage, forced her head to dip in accordance and her voice to whisper a soft _yes_.

“And can you feel the dragon’s magic?”

“Yes,” Sif repeated, her own voice still breathless, as if the fight had become physical, the magic coalescing into vicious enemies she now fought relentlessly on the battlefield.

“You must try and fight it, Sif. Focus on my magic, will it to win.”

Allowing her eyes to close, Sif tried to do as he asked. The difference between the magic was colossal; one was achingly familiar; hot, molten silver, searing her blood whilst the sweetest brush of fingertips caressed her skin. The other was angry, unfamiliar and malevolent, pushing at her, invading, trying to take control. She tried to force it away with her mind, focusing on the rich, intimate touch of Loki’s, willing it to triumph with every ounce of her fierce warrior’s heart. She felt the magic tremble, shift and reform, like two blades crashing against each other. Green and yellow, flashing behind her eyes.

“Picture it, Sif. _Fight_ it.”

And she did. In her mind she saw the sweep of her sword, the arc of her blade. She felt rush of adrenaline as her heartbeat flooded her ears like a battle drum. Raising her arm, she circled her enemy. Crashed down her blade as she rushed forwards. Twisted her feet to evade a strike. A lunge, a parry, a kick. A brutal dance for power in her mind. The dragon’s magic fought back ferociously, the blades sparking yellow and green as they crashed together. But it was no match for the combined strength of Loki’s magic and her willpower. A feign to the left, a misjudged step from her enemy and in her mind Sif lunged forward, the emerald sword digging deep and piercing its heart.

A searing pain rushed through her, the magical blade striking deep into her own flesh. The intensity was unbearable, as if her very soul was being torn asunder. The force of it knocked her backwards, head tipping upwards and a cry leaving her mouth. There was a thunderous roar in her ears and she tasted blood on her lips, felt angry marks on her palms. The power left her breathless and for a moment her heart stopped beating and all she could feel was agony. 

“Sif! Sif!” An anxious voice called to her, familiar and comforting. Gentle fingertips brushed across her shoulder. Loki’s magic still ran through her, but now it was the familiar healing spell, rich and warm. Sif focused upon it, allowing it to slowly clear her mind and gently soothe the last of her pain.

“Are you alright Sif?” Tenderly, he brushed her hair away from her cheek, cradling her face as he searched it anxiously. She was breathing hard, leaning against him in exhaustion. Loki cursed under his breath. He should have tried harder to control the magic, to allow it to attack him, not Sif. His own fingertips burnt from its final assault, the air around him acrid, charred, still crackling from the potency of the magic.

“Is it gone?” Sif asked, her voice uncharacteristically weak. She tilted her face backwards, let her cheek brush against his fingertips.

“I think so.” Her eyes met his and Loki suddenly realised he was still holding her face. Abruptly he let go, but he did not move backwards, not quite able to relinquish the feel of her pressed against him. He looked down, eyes widening in apprehension as he saw the gaping wound still marring her abdomen.

Her body was weak, drained and she could barely move. In her exhaustion, she allowed him to push her upright, turning her around so they faced one another. Loki reached for the torn cloth and enchanted ale and gently began cleaning her remaining wound. The cuts were even deeper than those across her shoulder, but as the blood cleared, he could not detect any more poisonous magic within. Still, it was with great care and trepidation that he gently placed his hand over the deep gashes lining her abdomen.

There was little magic left within him now, but what remained he pushed completely into Sif’s wound. He held his breath, waiting and preparing for any answering attack from the dragon’s magic. When it came it was weak, barely an echo of the magic he had fought before. Most of the dragon’s power was now defeated and for that he was grateful. Even now his own magic flickered, threatening to fade. But he pushed at it, forced it to attack the remaining poison in Sif’s wound. And he was careful this time, made sure its backlash attacked him, not Sif.

The battle begun once more within her, but this time she could sense the imminent victory, feel the fleeting, waning power of the dragon. Its magic was too weakened now to fight and Loki’s magic soon conquered it. A final surge of magic from Loki struck her, a powerful blow which pushed deep into her wound and obliterated the dragon’s poison. The force of it consumed her senses, knocked her breathless, as if she had been dealt a mortal strike on the battlefield. But this time it did not cause her any further pain.

The force of the magic soon receded and Sif slowly opened her eyes. Loki’s fingers were still splayed across her abdomen, the magic now flowing into her warm and soft and gentle. Without the poison of the dragon’s magic, it was able to heal, knitting her wound closed and easing the last of the pain. She tilted her head, looking up towards him and watching as his lips moved gently in the final words of the spell. She meant to thank him, but the words choked in her throat. He was closer than she thought, looming over her as he tended to the wound. His head was cast down and his eyes a firm line of concentration. A piece of his hair had fallen loose across his face and only her clenched fists allowed her to resist the urge to brush it away.

Loki must have sensed her scrutinising him, for he looked up then, caught her gaze. This time Sif did not look away, did not flinch backwards in embarrassment. There was something in his eyes, curious and dark and all consuming. He was too close. The warmth of his breath whispered along the skin of her neck. His fingertips still grazed her stomach. The intensity of his magic simmered white hot within her veins. Her own breath caught in her throat and for just a moment, Sif allowed herself to hope. Only her own guilt and shame held her back, kept her fingers clenched and her body stiff, motionless. She could not impose on him any more this night. So she watched, waited, silently willed him to kiss her.

The flames were dancing in her eyes, flashing in her hair and staining her skin yellow and orange and a fierce, brutal red. She looked as if she was ablaze, burning brightly against the blackness of the night. More beautiful than any goddess and blazing like the hottest flame on Asgard’s battlefield. Too hot, too bright, too beautiful for him.

Yet, for the briefest of moments, Loki wondered what she would do if he kissed her. If he ran his fingers along the curve of her cheekbones, tilted her head towards his and gently brushed his lips against hers. Would she return his kiss, like she had the dragon in his image, or push him away in disgust? 

His magic still ran through her, weaker now, receding, but still warm and gentle and soothing. It was no spell of bewitchment, no enchantment to cloud her mind and make her his. But as her eyes burned into his, it suddenly occurred to him what affect it might have upon her, so soon after she had been bewitched. The magic of the dragon was only recently defeated within her, and Loki knew even simple bewitching spells could persist for several days…

He swallowed, tried to look away, but her eyes continued to blaze into his, holding him captive. Her gaze shifted momentarily towards his lips. She moved imperceptibly towards him. He only needed to raise his head, to tilt it towards hers…

The dragon’s magic had been powerful, potent. Even now it lingered in the air around them. And mixed with his own magic, the combination could be explosive, intoxicating. Perhaps too strong for even the great Shieldmaiden to resist. But if he kissed her now, would he really be any better than the dragon?

Abruptly, Loki stood, casting his eyes towards the ground, the fire, anywhere but at her. For several moments he stood there awkwardly, trying to school his face into indifference and calm the blood raging within him. He forced himself to speak, to break this unbearable tension between them. And to try to placate his own guilt and fear. Had he revealed too much to the beautiful, blazing warrior?

“Your wounds…” He swallowed, forced his eyes to look towards hers and not stray again. “I have healed as well as I am able, but you must promise to seek out the palace healers on our return to Asgard.”

She looked away, down at the ground, her fingers reaching for her wound. She touched the healed skin tentatively, almost reverently. The feel of his magic, of his touch still lingered, but it was not enough, never enough. But it was all she could ever hope to have now.

“Sif?” He repeated, when she made no promise.

“Yes, Loki.” Her voice sounded tired, wary and almost vulnerable. His hand started to reach out towards her, instinctively wanting to offer her comfort, but the bitter coldness of her next words stopped him. “If you insist.” She raised her eyes towards him again, and they were hard now, defiant and cold.

At the anger in her voice he began to turn away, but he quickly stopped himself. He knew things were irrevocably changed between them now, that this tension would persist for many months, perhaps years to come. But now it was tarnished with anger and that he could not face. Not when it had been his own doing, his own curiosity causing her harm. For had he come to her aid sooner, the dragon would never have been close enough to attack. And were it not for his own magic healing her, she would not have found herself in so vulnerable a situation. He had come too close to taking advantage of her and deserved her anger. But now he must try and make amends as best he could. Reaching for the dagger held by his waist, he turned back towards her. He held it out to her, flat against his palm, the emeralds flashing brightly in a stark contrast to the warm reds of the firelight.

Sif looked at it wearily. Her dagger, the one he had gifted to her so many years ago. An apology, an act of recompense; yielding to her the blade that had shorn her golden locks and turned them as black as night. Was it to be another peace offering now? A sign of his apology and sorrow that he could not return her affections? Sif reached for it wearily, just as she had all those years ago. But then she had questioned his motives, his sincerity. Now the sting of his rejection made them impossible to ignore. The blade felt heavy in her hand, more powerful somehow and strangely unfamiliar. For a moment Sif was tempted to refuse it. But he did not deserve her anger, her bitterness. She could place no blame with him. So she forced herself to raise her eyes towards his, to dip her head in gratitude and push her lips into a faint smile. “Thank you, Loki.”

The smile did not reach her eyes, did not chase away the sadness within them but Loki returned it all the same. She had accepted his apology and that was enough for now. He also wanted to reassure her, to tell her he knew she did not care for him. But honesty did not come easily to him. Mischief always had and perhaps that would be enough. So he smiled down at her, his usual teasing smirk, and said playfully, “The magic within the dagger is stronger now, Sif.”

She looked up in surprise, eyes flashing with curiosity. It softened the sadness within them as he had intended. Deliberately, he waited a few moments before he continued, “It absorbed some of the dragon’s magic, when it pierced its heart.”

Another teasing pause as Sif cast her gaze down to the dagger, eyes wary. “But do not fear, it is quite safe. It will still only obey those who I allow.” A flash of his favourite mischievous grin followed, but Sif’s eyes remained fixed on the dagger.

So that was why it felt different, Sif mused as she continued to turn it over in her hands. She took the hilt in her palm and felt it resonate strongly in her grasp. She could feel the blade yielding to her, the magic stronger now as the emeralds grew hot and powerful, awakening at her touch. Familiar and comforting once more. Like his smirk and his teasing words. An act of friendship she could not ignore. So with her own smirk, she looked up, raised the weapon towards him. “And who would it obey, if I were to turn its blade against you?”

“It would choose its favourite master.”

Her own smile was pure mischief then, second only to his own, “Or mistress.”

“Indeed.” His smirk widened into a genuine smile at her friendly teasing. Perhaps things between them were not as irredeemable as he had feared. But Loki still did not know what she suspected of his own partiality towards her, and he would have to remain guarded.

“Good night, my Lady.” He nodded in goodbye and turned around, heading towards his own sleeping area. There was still so much he longed to tell her, but this tentative friendship would have to be enough for him now.

Dark shadows stretched across the camp as Sif watched him walk away, her smile soon falling from her lips. She had no use for pretence any more and his final words echoed around her mind. But she was not his lady, she would never be. He had made his feelings abundantly clear and she would now have to be mindful of her own. And as she watched the firelight dance and wane and die as the night drew on, she sifted through her memories and trained her thoughts. Falsity had never come easily to her, but she would have to try, for Loki’s sake. And if there was one consolation, it was that he seemed eager to maintain their friendship. And for that, Sif would have to learn to be grateful.

 


	22. Chapter 22

The silence in the library was overwhelming and Loki deliberately slammed the last heavy volume shut in frustration. A cloud of dust filled his nostrils, but Loki did not notice. His mind was too focused upon his quest, though precisely what it was, he could not say. This was the last book he had found on dragons and powerful shapeshifters and still his many questions remained unanswered. The little he could find on such powerful creatures all quoted the same thing; that a dragon would discover its prey’s weaknesses and exploit them, luring it to its death. Only that would mean that Loki was Sif’s weakness and that could simply not be the case. A deeper motivation and magic was behind the dragon’s actions, for the dragon had bewitched Sif before drawing her into its trap. Such actions went against everything he had been able to find in the many ancient scrolls and tomes and it was a mystery Loki was determined to solve.

But now he must find a new source of knowledge and the setback threatened to drive him into despair. Without any new books to study, there was nothing to distract him and memories from that night began to invade his thoughts once more. For centuries he had always pushed away such imprudent feelings with bitter reason, but now the wound lay bare and open and unable to heal. Visions of her filled his mind and he could not force them away. Memories of her kissing him, the dragon in his image; of her burning as hot as a flame in the firelight, her gaze filled with such sweet temptation... And what would she have done, had he kissed her? Would she have pulled away, disgusted by his actions? Or would the bewitchment of the dragon’s spell been strong enough? Would she have kissed him with the passion she had shown the dragon, her fingers twining in his hair and pressing her body tight against him…

“Loki!” A loud booming voice echoed down the peaceful aisles of the palace library and broke Loki away from the wild dreams and confounding memories consuming him.

A moment later the face of the speaker appeared and Loki quickly composed himself, but did not have time to hide. No, not hide. What reason did he have for such subterfuge? He merely sought a quiet corner to continue his research uninterrupted, and Thor’s recurring presence had forced him to find many a new place of solitude.

“Ah! Here you are, brother.” Thor’s face widened into a grin and Loki sighed inwardly.

“Hello Thor.” Loki’s voice was cold and unwelcoming. He deliberately opened the book before him and began perusing it again, or at least pretending to.

If Thor noticed he was not welcome, he did not show it, but then Thor rarely did. “The time for feasting has arrived, dear brother, will you not join us?”

“The time for feasting has lasted five days now, Thor. I do not see why this day is any different.”

“Because we are eager to hear more of your fantastical tale, Loki. The bards are waiting to write their stories of the great dragon slayer, Loki Odinson.”

Which is why I would prefer to remain here, Loki thought silently to himself. His friends had been goading him to reveal more details on what happened that night, but Loki did not dare sate their curiosity for fear it would unravel too many long buried secrets. Usually he would enjoy the opportunity for mischief, teasing his friends with succulent morsels, before weaving his own story and embellishing every detail. But this time, his mind had proved too preoccupied and his silvertongue had failed him; evasion and avoidance was all he had accomplished. Perhaps that was why his friends sought so eagerly to hear more of the tale. But whilst Loki did not doubt his friend’s inquisitiveness, he was under no illusion it belonged to any but his friends alone. Thor and the Warriors Three were sure to have enchanted the masses with tales of their own heroic actions, exaggerating every aspect of the part they played in defeating the ferocious dragon. Whilst the truth of Loki’s victory had been spoken on their return to Asgard, it was Thor’s hand that had held the prize of the dragon’s severed head high above the crowds. And so, without Loki or Sif’s accounts to counter the extravagant tales, the people of Asgard were left with clouded judgements and once more heralded Thor as the mightiest of warriors. Usually this favouritism of the people towards his brother frustrated him, but on this occasion he was grateful for the attention to be placed elsewhere. There were too many secrets from that night which needed to remain hidden, and forgotten. But it seemed that Thor had other ideas and Loki was determined to thwart him. “There is nothing left to tell, Thor, I have been through it many times already.” His voice was short, annoyed and he picked up the book before him, holding it close to his face so his brother could no longer see him.

“Then simply feast with us, brother. We will seek your tales no more.”

Loki rolled his eyes, though the gesture was somewhat lost behind the book. He knew full well the questions he would be bombarded with the moment he seated himself at the feast.

“Come Loki, put away your books and join us!” Thor leant over and took a tome off the pile. The binding was covered in ancient runes and Loki peered over the rim of his book as Thor’s face creased into confusion and he hastily found another. “The Great Beasts of Yggdrasil,” Thor read, before looking up again at his brother and Loki quickly raised the book to hide his face again. “You have already slain the dragon, Loki. What good is such knowledge now?”

“We,” he answered, voice clipped and emphasising the word, for Loki knew well he would not have defeated the beast without his friend’s aid. “…Barely escaped with our lives, Thor. It is doubtful next time we will fare as well.”

“And it is doubtful there will be a next time, brother!”

“Perhaps, but I am not willing to take such a chance.”

“But even if we are to meet a dragon again, it will not be tonight! Come brother, you can spare a few hours away from your studies to feast with your friends.”

“Indeed not, Thor. I have not the time, nor the inclination.” Irritation dripped into his voice and he turned another page of the book he did not read. Silence resounded for a few moments as Thor scrutinised him and Loki waited with his breath held, willing his brother to leave him. Ten seconds, then twenty. Usually Thor would have grown impatient and left by now. Thirty seconds and still Loki felt the heavy eyes upon him, the thick binding of the book shielding little.      

When Thor finally did speak, it was not the words Loki wanted to hear, “Mother has sent for you, Loki. She has insisted you must come and sit with us this night.”

Loki flinched at the words and was grateful the book hid his reaction. He remained silent, turning another page, but Thor stood stoically on the other side of the table, watching him. “She said she would come and bring you herself if you did not come with me now.”

A sigh was Loki’s answer this time and he put the book down with a louder crash than he intended. He scrutinised his brother’s face, but it was firm and determined, no hint of any falsity. He could not be sure if his brother was lying, for it was a clever way to achieve Loki’s compliance. Thor knew Loki would not risk the possibility of their mother fetching him from the library and dragging him to dinner. Too many times it had occurred in his youth and Loki was eager for the event to not be repeated. With an elaborate sigh of disinclination, Loki deliberately took his time tidying away the books, quills and parchment on his desk, before standing slowly. Perhaps he had spent too long in this library when such celebrations continued. And as much as he tried to pretend it bore no influence on his desire to remain, he knew he would have to face Sif again, sooner or later.

His brother watched him silently, not quite able to hide the smile on his face, before he turned away and headed towards the main doors of the library. Loki had little choice but to follow behind his brother, though his frustration was somewhat eclipsed by his anxiety of seeing Sif again, for the first time since their return to Asgard.

\---------------------

 When the ornately carved doors of the great hall swung open, Sif’s gaze automatically glanced up towards them. She regretted it a moment later when the princes strolled in and her eyes accidentally caught those of the second Prince. She looked away a moment later, her heart thumping and her face flushing hot, but not before Loki’s eyes turned away from hers. It confirmed what Sif had already surmised; Loki was avoiding her. It was not unusual for him to spend days cooped up in his room or the library studying, but rarely did he miss such a grand celebration as this, especially when he was the hero of the battle. The feasting had continued for five days now and celebrations of the heroic victory over such a mythical and fearsome beast showed no signs of abating. All of Asgard was eager to hear the thrilling story from the dragon slayer’s mouth and it was strange for Loki to avoid such pleasant attention. Sif knew there were elements of the story he would rather not share with his father’s people, but she did not doubt his silvertongue was eloquent enough to weave a fascinating tale without revealing too many of the night’s secrets. Their friends had yet to grow suspicious, but Sif knew that Loki’s continual absence was of her own making and she swallowed thickly as guilt and shame pushed at her thoughts once more.

From the corner of her eye she watched him approach his mother, bending his head in greeting and bringing a smile to the Queen’s lips. He returned to his brother’s side soon after, seating himself as far away from Sif as possible. She joined in with her friends in greeting the elusive Prince, a smile forced across her lips, but he gave no acknowledgement to her presence. Hastily, Sif shifted her gaze to her food, her hands clenching under the table and her cheeks flushing hotly. She was not foolish enough to think their friendship could be fully restored, but she had hoped they could at least share a feast and talk together without such awkwardness and embarrassment. His teasing words on that night, when he had gifted her the dagger, had allowed her the hope that all was not lost between them, but his actions tonight proved otherwise.

She tried to keep her eyes cast down towards her plate, but far too often she felt her gaze drawn towards the trickster. Their friends had wasted little time and were already attacking him with questions. Sif watched and listened as Loki evaded their enquiries, but it did little to sate their curiosity. Soon impatience turned them towards another quarry, but Sif kept her eyes down as she felt her friends gazes upon her and after only a few moments their attention turned towards the feast. They had already tried to question her frequently about what had happened, but unlike Loki, her avoidance of such storytelling was not unusual. If they noticed she was perhaps quieter and more sombre of late, she knew her friends accredited it to her disappointment at not slaying the dragon herself, and shame at leading them into danger and being at the mercy of her friend’s aid. And this time at least, Sif was content for them to remain in that understanding and the realisation that Sif would not appreciate such matters discussed. The alternative, though more truthful, was far worse. Her feelings for the trickster were a weakness she could not afford to harbour any longer, not when they had so clearly, and embarrassingly, been rejected. She had managed to hide away her feelings for the trickster before and she would do so again. All she must do was find a way to keep the memories at bay. Far too often did her mind turn towards that night; to the way Loki had kissed her before she realised the deception and to the feel of his magic running through her veins, healing her. And then, for that one short sweet moment, when she had thought he might kiss her…

As her mind began to wonder once more, so did her gaze and this time she accidentally caught his eye. Both looked away immediately and a new wave of embarrassment washed over her. Had he read the decadent thoughts and desires in her eyes? Sif cursed when she saw Loki stand barely a few minutes later, ignoring the protests of his brother and friends. He must study, he argued, but Sif knew he was leaving because of her.

Her eyes followed him as he walked away, but she was surprised to see him approaching the far side of the great hall rather than the main doors of the central hallway. She watched as he slipped around a few warriors sloshing back their mead, disappearing from sight as he joined a small corridor that led to the balconies overlooking the citadel. Sif could only surmise he sought fresh air before returning to the library and it was not many moments before she made up her mind and followed him.

His avoidance of her may have been a blessing at first, a chance for her to recover her dignity and acknowledge the harsh reality and painful truth. But as the days had stretched on and she had not seen him, her gratitude had turned to frustration. She was no weak lady or scorned maiden and she could not stand for Loki to feel any guilt or anxiety towards her. As embarrassing and awkward as it would be, his appearance this night for the first time in five days had only solidified her determination to talk to him. She was not one for patience and forbearance and she could not wait for Loki to realise he had no reason to avoid her. She was a mighty warrior of Asgard and Loki need not fear she would be defeated by the mere trivialities of feelings and emotions. This time, she would swallow her pride and make sure Loki knew he had no reason to be embarrassed or anxious of her regard for him, nor to treat her any differently. She straightened her back and held her head high, ignoring the sound of her thundering heart as she followed him out onto the balconies overlooking Asgard.

 


	23. Chapter 23

The balcony was quiet and the air fresh after the stifling heat and noise of the great hall and the dusty, stale atmosphere of the library. Loki breathed the cool air in deeply and gazed out across the shining lights of the citadel and the Rainbow Bridge beyond. At least it was over with, he had answered his friend’s questions with care and consideration and whilst he knew they were still curious, he doubted they would seek any more answers now. No one would know of the extent of the dragon’s trickery and the bewitchment it had cast upon Lady Sif.

In the quiet stillness of the balcony, looking out across the vast expanse of his home, he could not stop his thoughts from turning towards her. The flickering lights of the citadel reminded him of the way her eyes had sparkled in the firelight that night. And in the shifting of the clouds in the vivid blues and greens of the Asgardian night he saw her eyes once more dart away from his in embarrassment.  He knew he had been a coward to ignore her, but his silvertongue had failed him and he had struggled to find the right words to say. So he had remained silent, fearing not only revealing too much to Sif, but of arousing the suspicions of their friends. Any embarrassment should be his to carry; Sif had suffered enough under the strange, nefarious schemes of the dragon. And Loki knew the embarrassment still lingered and cut deep. She was as eager to avoid him as he towards her and, for now, that suited him well. It would take much time to undo the damage the dragon had wrought and he could only hope time would erode any suspicions or anxiety she harboured.

So lost was he in his melancholy thoughts and the shimmering, mesmerising lights of his father’s city, that he turned around in shock when he heard her voice behind him.

“May I speak with you a moment, Prince Loki?”

She looked more resplendent than any goddess in her satin dress of a deepest sapphire blue, the bright light of the corridor beyond bathing her in a rich, warm gold. He stared at her for a heartbeat too long, surprise and awe overcoming his features. There was a seriousness and weight in her words, in her voice, and hearing the unusual use of his title confounded him. He did not understand why she had come and her presence was unnerving. He wrenched his eyes away from her beauty, cast them out towards the distant waters that sped rapidly towards the edges of their world. It took many moments before he was able to school his face into indifference and quiet the sudden pounding in his blood. Many more before he trusted his voice to remain calm and detached, “Of course you may, Lady Sif.”

She approached him slowly, cautiously, careful to ensure the physical distance remained between them. She did not dare even a glance towards him, for she could not spare any distractions or doubts to overcome her. The distance between them was far worse than she had feared and she felt her courage wavering. But she must speak now, must force her voice to be strong and not betray her racing heart and growing unease. “I wanted to thank you, Loki.” She paused, felt her nervousness threaten to overwhelm her, but she pushed it away and forced herself to continue, “For saving my life.”

Her words surprised him further and he risked a glance towards her, but her face was unreadable, the soft golden light accentuating the hard, determined lines etched across her face. She looked as if she were preparing for battle, her back straight and her eyes focused, resolute. He knew now why she was here, realised she had come to determine his feelings for her and that he could not allow. His hands tightened on the railing. “It is Thor who deserves your thanks, my Lady.” His voice grew harsher as he continued, “And I am sure if you return to the banquet, Thor would be only too pleased to hear them.”

The sharpness of the anger seeping into his voice cut her as deep as any blade and she glanced towards him anxiously. His face was stern and unwelcoming, the eyes turned towards her cold and hostile and Sif looked away quickly. Loki did not want her here, did not want to speak to her and she had to fight down the urge to retreat. Were her feelings for him that troublesome, that disturbing? He had not seemed angry before, when he had healed her so diligently from the Dragon’s marks. What had changed within him since? Sif did not know, but whilst his angry words were designed to dissuade her, they had the opposite effect. Sif was now even more resolved to speak to him, to make him understand he had no reason to fear or condemn any regard she held for him. She pushed down her pain with purpose, her fear with a steel determination as sharp and ruthless as any blade. But she would have to be careful. One wrong move and the blade would cut too deep. The words she had planned as she approached the balcony, indeed the words that had been spinning around her mind since their return to Asgard, would not be enough.

“No,” Sif answered eventually, voice holding firm, “I would already be dead had it not been for your aid, Loki. Thor may have helped, but it is truly you who I thank for my life, and I know it was at great risk to your own.”

Silence pervaded between them again and a stolen glance showed a flicker of anger across his features that she still remained. It was quickly stifled and his face became unreadable once more.

“It is only what you would have done for any of us, Lady Sif.” And what she had done for him many times. It was not an unusual occurrence and her thanks were not only unnecessary, but unnerving. There must be more to her presence here than mere gratitude and it only confirmed Loki’s suspicions. She must know, or strongly suspect him of regard for her. But he would not verify her theories, indeed he would aspire to prove the contrary. If she thought to trick the trickster then she would have little success. The thought did occur to him that she was simply here to make amends, to try and repair the damage wrought by the dragon to their friendship. But her fierce, determined countenance did not lay it weight and Loki tried to push aside the notion. Either way, Loki was on guard, weighing his words carefully before he spoke and keeping his face impassive. “You have no reason to speak of your thanks, my Lady, we are neither in each other’s debt.”

“But the folly was mine and mine alone. My carelessness led us both into danger and my foolishness risked both of our lives. You were under no obligation to save my life, but I thank you that you did.”

It was many moments before Loki could speak, for he could not understand such a heartfelt show of gratitude, nor the contradictory rigidity and coldness of her voice and countenance. She seemed determined to be in his debt and his own guilt and shame at his actions that night rendered him unable to accept any. “You are too hard on yourself, Sif.” He turned towards her again, deliberately softening his voice and his expression. His anger and annoyance had not driven her away; perhaps a new pretence of benevolence was required. If she was indeed resolute that their friendship be restored, then Loki would endeavour to play his part. She would find no fault in his actions, nor weight in her suspicions if he merely reassured her as a friend. “The dragon’s magic was so strong it would have confused and defeated nearly anyone, Sif. Indeed, it almost defeated me!”

There was a trace of a smile in his tone, a teasing in his final words and Sif risked a glance towards him. When their eyes met, they held for a moment and a slight smile formed across her own lips. His expression seemed softer now, affable and welcoming and Sif could not help but hope it was a sign that all was not lost between them, for this moment at least. Anxious that it continue, Sif was quick to reply, trying to ensure her voice sounded equally light and playful. “Indeed, my prince. Quite commendatory for the dragon to nearly defeat such a foe.” Her teasing was rewarded with a small smile, but there were still words she needed to say and she could not stop her voice from growing heavy as she continued. “But I cannot be as lenient on myself. Were it not for your aid, my foolishness would have been my downfall.”

“And were it not for my heroic brother, my foolishness would have been mine.” The smile faded from his lips as his voice grew weary, weighed down by the guilt and shame that still gnawed at his heart. “I thought I could fight such a beast alone, Sif, and my ignorance nearly cost us both our lives. I should have alerted our friends when I first suspected you were in danger, but pride prevented me.”

And I am truly grateful it did, Sif thought, words she dare not utter. It was distressing enough that Loki had seen her weakness and folly; she could not have borne for her friends to witness it as well. “A delay may have been enough for the dragon to conquer, Loki. Come, let us not quarrel over what decisions were made. We are both alive and for that I owe you my thanks.”

“But if you are not to be lenient on yourself, surely I am permitted the same indulgence and allowed to think harshly upon my own actions.”

His voice had grown lighter again, once more resembling his teasing, playful tone, and so Sif answered with her own, “If that is to be your inclination, Loki. But perhaps that makes us both fools, though in very different ways.”

“Indeed,” Loki was smiling now, eyes shining with mischief and his customary smirk threatening to pull at his lips.

For a moment, relief overtook Sif, for this was the Loki she knew and cared for, the Loki who made her smile and laugh with his mischief and his words laced with silver. But the relief was quickly replaced by panic, for Loki looked away from her then, eyes focusing on the archway leading away from the balcony. Perhaps this brief moment of friendship was enough for Loki, but Sif knew too many words still remained unspoken between them.

He inclined his head towards her in farewell and Sif watched silently as he walked away. One step, then two. Three. A painful reminder of that terrible night. That night, at the campfire when she had willed him to kiss her, she had let him walk away. She had let herself be resigned that nothing more could be said, that feigned indifference and pretence was all she had left. But it had only resulted in Loki avoiding her, this hostile distance growing between them. She could not risk that happening again, not when she feared this time the distance between them would grow insurmountable.

Already Loki had reached the archway, in a moment he would be out of sight, lost to her again.

“It is not only my life I owe you, Loki,” her words were hurried, tumbling over each other in her rush to utter them, to stop him from leaving. He paused, but did not turn towards her, his back straightened into a harsh silhouette against the brightness of the palace beyond. Already the enmity had grown again between them and Sif knew he would not remain still for long. So she willed her sudden panic down, ignored the pounding heartbeats resonating in her ears and forced her mind and body into the tense stillness she often used on the battlefield, just before the attack. She pushed away her desire to flee, to let Loki walk away and forced herself to speak the words so long rehearsed to remain no longer buried. “I also thank you for your kindness in healing me from the dragon’s magic. I know it was at great cost to you and I am truly grateful. And I also thank you…” Here she paused, her voice faltering momentarily, though she hoped Loki did not notice, “…For your discretion.”

“Discretion?” Loki repeated, turning back towards her in surprise. It took him several moments to understand her meaning, for it was so completely unexpected. When he did, his face darkened and his earlier suspicions resurfaced. There could be no other explanation for why she would make any reference to what he had witnessed. Once again she must be trying to uncover if he held any feelings for her and the subterfuge both surprised and angered him. He never thought she would stoop so low, but why would she seek such knowledge if it was not to mock him? Condemn him for the fool he was, for only a fool would harbour feelings for such a beautiful goddess, as far from his grasp as the very stars dazzling as bright as she in the sky above them. His fingers clenched into fists, but he willed his sudden anger away. Whether she be here for good or ill, he would reveal no more to her.

His voice was cold when he answered, his words measured and careful, though they barely contained his bitterness. “You need not pain yourself with owing me thanks for that, my Lady. There is nothing to be discrete about. You were not responsible for your actions whilst you were bewitched by so powerful a dragon.”

“Bewitched?” It was Sif’s turn for surprise and confusion. She did not understand why his voice had suddenly grown so cold, so angry, or why he spoke of bewitchment. The dragon had confused her, had taken on Loki’s form, but it was not any form of bewitchment, just trickery. Words of confusion were already on her tongue, but she managed to swallow them down as a new thought suddenly struck her. What if Loki believed she had been under the dragon’s spell completely, that it was only through foul magic that she had kissed the dragon in his image? Twice he had seen her with the dragon; in the camp firelight he must have seen the desire in her eyes. Surely he did not think it was all simply due to magic?

He stood as still and cold as ice before her, his expression inscrutable. No more did the mischief dance in his eyes or the smirk play at his lips. This strange changeable behaviour added weight to her suspicions and for a moment she was about to protest, to correct him and reveal the truth. But she silenced her tongue quickly, for if Loki truly did think it all a trick, a bewitchment, then he would not suspect her of any partiality towards him. Perhaps she need only play along, pretend she had been completely bewitched by the beast and their friendship would become what it once was.

It also occurred to her then, as she looked upon the hard lines of his face in the soft golden light, that perhaps Loki was granting her an excuse. The Liesmith weaving a falsehood to explain away her actions and pretend he did not know of her regard for him. Maybe that was why he was so quick to anger, for he must think her a fool indeed to reject such an offer after his own indifference had been so clearly displayed.

As he began to turn from her again, she knew she should just let him walk away. Whether Loki realised her feelings for him or not, this was a chance for them to remain buried and, if not forgotten, at least unspoken between them. Her feelings for the trickster had already done enough harm. If she truly wanted their friendship to recover, she should remain silent. Would that not be for the best, for both of them?

And so she watched as Loki walked away from her again, her fingers clenching into fists and her lips a hard, unwavering line, forcing away the words she longed to say to him.


	24. Chapter 24

_A/N – So I know I said this was to be the final chapter, but the more I edited it, the longer it got! So I had to split it into two chapters. But fear not, the next and final chapter (definitely this time!) will be on it’s way so._

_Thanks for still reading the story and I hope you enjoy the chapter._

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“Loki.” His name spilled from her lips unintentionally when he reached the archway. He paused, inclined his head towards her, but did not turn around, as if her words would not be worth the effort.

It had been a mistake, speaking his name and she immediately cursed her weakness. But she could not, would not, withdraw it and admit her error. But now she did not know what else to say, to do. Nod her head in farewell? Speak the empty words of goodbye and thank you again? They all seemed so meaningless now.

In her silence, Loki started to turn his head away and his eyes suddenly caught the golden light filtering down through the archway. They sparkled like emeralds, cold and unforgiving, and in that moment Sif realised her friendship with Loki would never be the same. It did not matter what she said now, suspicions and lies and empty words would forever pervade between them, distorting the truth and the memories of what had happened that night. And with this realisation came another, growing with rapid strength within her. She was tired of hiding, tired of pretending. She was tired of watching everything she said and did for fear of arousing Loki’s suspicions. And she knew she would always wonder, always question what he knew and what he suspected had happened that night. Whether she told him of her feelings or not, their friendship would never be same and Sif had never been one for lies and pretence.

She knew it was selfish, knew she had little right to impose upon him, but she could keep quiet no longer. She had to tell him the words, the truths she knew he did not wish to hear. Truths he was even now trying to evade. Sif knew she must speak quickly, but she struggled to find the right words to say. She could not simply declare her affection, not to his back as he walked away from her. He would not pause; he would not stop to hear her. He would continue to walk away, pretend he had not heard the words she spoke. No. She had to find a way to make him listen, to make him understand not only her feelings for him, but her desire to be treated no differently. And if she wanted the trickster to listen to her, she would have to play the game his way. She would have to get his attention, pander to his curiosity and present him with a challenge he could not refuse.  

An idea struck her suddenly and she spoke quickly, before she lost her nerve. “You call the dragon’s trickery bewitchment, but I did not think dragons would stoop to such levels.”

Loki paused, considering her words for a few moments, before he turned around to face her. Sif had to quickly hide her smirk, for this was only the first move of the game.

“And what do you know of dragons, Lady Sif?” He cocked his head to one side, regarded her shrewdly. He knew he should continue to walk away, to leave her now before he revealed too much, but her question had piqued his interest. Her voice, her words, had felt like a game, of what he did not know, but he had never been good at resisting such an intriguing challenge.

“I know enough.” She raised her head high, matched his eyes in defiance, daring him to contradict her. The animosity and friction that had hung between them so recently had shifted now, overshadowed by the familiar challenge of wit and words and reason. But she would need to be careful. Loki Silvertongue was far too clever with words and Sif could not afford to lose now. “Unlike our friends, I chose to pay attention in our lessons about such formidable beasts we may one day face.”

A smirk flashed across Loki’s lips and he took an imposing step towards her. Sif always had been smarter than the others, but he did not understand this sudden change in behaviour or direction. He did not know where she intended to lead him or trick him, but he could not resist the temptation of figuring out her motives and beating her at whatever game she played. He held his hands out in invitation towards Sif, letting the smirk rest across his lips. “Then please indulge me, Sif. What do you know about dragons?”

Sif shifted uncomfortably for a moment under Loki’s inquisitive gaze. She must choose her words carefully, ensure he did not suspect the aim of this game until it was too late. She raised her head when she did speak, “I know that dragons covert gold above all else, that they crave it like the very air they breathe. And I know that when there is no gold to be found, they covert flesh with a ferocious appetite and take amusement ensnaring their prey.”

“Indeed. And they like to trick and tease their prey, playing mind games and tormenting it, like a cat playing with a mouse.” Loki’s smile was as sharp as a knife, his teeth flashing as dangerously bright in the soft golden light as the very beast he spoke of.

Sif held his gaze, unperturbed by the mischief and danger flashing in his eyes. “I know that they have the power to read people’s thoughts, discover their prey’s weaknesses. I know that they prey on these flaws, luring their victims to their deaths. But I also know dragons do not usually bewitch their prey.”

“You speak of dragons by the book, my Lady. But would you cast all such creatures under the same harsh light?”

“I know better than to underestimate any enemy, my Prince. But there was little this dragon did that was beyond the norm, apart from your accusations of bewitchment.”

“Accusations? Such a strong word, my Lady. I merely speak as I find.” He paused, regarded her and her fierce, defiant countenance in the golden light. Her words were unusual, her game still a mystery, but the stakes had risen, Loki could sense it though he could not explain how. He only knew that this was a game he must win, that he must prove to her the extent of the dragon’s treachery. “Dragons are powerful beasts, Sif, and rare. There is little documented about them and even less on what is normal behaviour. A dragon cares little for confirming to what the scholars write.”

“And as a scholar yourself, are you arguing against the merits of your studies, the worth of those books and scrolls you spend many of your hours devouring?”

“There is much to be learnt from reading, my Lady. I merely seek to clarify that the written word, whatever the source, is only as truthful as the author intends it. One must be mindful of this and find many sources in agreement. But as there are so very few dragons known, my Lady, there is little to prove what their normal characteristic behaviour should be.”

“But do not all scholars agree that dragons are proud beasts, Loki? That they seek to beguile and toy with their prey, identify their weaknesses and use them against them? What mastery and mischief is there in using such magic as bewitchment?”

A blink was the only reaction Loki gave, though his thoughts were spinning around, jumping ahead and trying to piece together this puzzle. He had an inkling of what her game was now, she must be trying once again to work out his feelings, but it was too late to back down now. He must find a way to trick her into thinking it was all the dragon’s work, for both of them. Yet he could think of nothing to refute her words. They only echoed what he himself had found. Five days worth of research and he had nothing more to argue with. He must try a new tactic, so he repeated the words he had used to convince himself so many times since that night. “Ordinarily yes, but our dragon was somewhat different. I do believe it was growing quite desperate. Perhaps it does not meet with such… succulent delights as Æsir warriors often.” He spoke with a flamboyant, humorous tone, hoping to belie the gravity of their discussion and throw her off guard.

It did not work; Sif merely crossed her arms and eyed him defiantly. “Rather an intricate ploy, for so desperate a dragon, do you not think.”

Loki shrugged, “The dragon, though desperate, was still very powerful. An ancient beast. So powerful it nearly defeated us all. Bewitchment and trickery would cost it little.”

“But it would cost it something, Loki. Why would it risk wasting its energy to bewitch me and change into your form, just to lure me to its lair when it could have just dragged me instead? Why did it even choose your form to take?”

“I was in the forest, Sif. It must have seen through my concealment spell enough to sense my presence and imitate me, the nearest Æsir.” He did not know how to explain away the rest of her words, though he knew it was imperative he did. He had to win this game of hers and make her believe it was all due to the dragon. He must find a way to prove he did not hold any feelings for her, for surely that was her aim. Yet her questions and accusations were all focused on her actions, her bewitchment, not his own reactions. It only confused him further and made it difficult to know what move to make. He would have to remain vague, see if she revealed more of what this game was about. “As you say, a dragon is a proud beast, Sif. It likes to play with its food. Even desperate for flesh, it would want to trick and tease its prey, before luring it to its lair. And it had you led you deep into its forest, Sif. The bewitchment, though unusual, proved effective.”

“Its plan did prove effective, but it did not accomplish it through any spells of bewitchment.”

“The evidence speaks for itself, my Lady.”

“The evidence?” Sif shook her head in impatience and growing frustration. They were going round in circles now, each move undoing the last. Loki seemed determined to believe the dragon had actually gone to the trouble of bewitching her, which made little sense. She had questioned whether the Liesmith had weaved a lie to explain away her actions that night and now she realised he had indeed. Only it was no lie for her benefit, but his own. He seemed resolute to disprove the truth and it was increasing Sif’s determination to thwart him. Sif knew his actions were further proof of Loki’s indifference to her, indeed of his own dislike of even the idea of her regard, but Sif could not let that stop her. She had already decided to be selfish, to make Loki face the truth even though she knew it must pain him. “You can only accept the evidence which suits you, Loki!”

“I accept the evidence which makes sense! The dragon was desperate for food, but still too proud to simply snatch you away.”

“And so it chose to bewitch me and shapeshift into your image?” Sif’s voice was growing incredulous. “Is it now to stoop to the level of a Siren? Bewitching and seducing its prey? Surely such a powerful dragon possesses greater intellect and sorcery than resorting to such common trickery?”

“I do not know how to fathom the dragon’s actions, Sif. Indeed, they are unusual...”

“Unusual!” Sif interrupted, her temper starting to flare. Perhaps that was his aim, to annoy her so she became distracted, perhaps even relinquish her purpose. But Sif would not be discouraged so easily. She took a deep breath, forcing her voice to be calmer, “Dragon’s seek out their prey’s weaknesses, Loki, they do not create them.”

There was little Loki could say to refute her words, but he found himself out of moves. Instead he tried deflection, tried to put an end to this senseless game. “We will never understand the full extent of the dragon’s motives, Sif. But it is of little importance, for we all still alive and we must simply strive to forget what has happened and speak of it no more.”

Loki made to walk away then, abandoning their game and refusing to accept the truth, but Sif could not let that happen. She had to make him understand. But the truth was becoming harder to speak now and she swallowed thickly before she replied, “As a warrior I cannot allow myself to forget such foolishness, such weakness. It nearly led to the death of myself and my friends and I would be a poor example of a warrior indeed if I ignored such recklessness.”

“But you were not to blame, Sif. Whatever the dragon’s motives were, there is no denying the dragon’s magic was strong. It would have been enough to overcome anyone.”

“Such excuses would hold little weight in battle, Loki. No. I must acknowledge my own failings and seek to learn from them. I allowed by own desires to tempt me, to lead us all into danger and for that I can make no excuse. The dragon showed me only what I wanted to see and, like a fool, I believed in its lie, in its trickery. But I assure you, it did not bewitch me.”

 “But I saw you, Sif.” Her words surprised him, spinning around his head and confusing him more. He wanted to ask her what she meant, what she was trying to say, but he did not dare. He had never liked hearing the truth, lies were always so much more interesting and safe. Whatever truth Sif was trying to admit, or trick him to admit, he did not want to hear it. She was adamant she had not been bewitched, yet how else could he explain what he had witnessed. “I saw you with the dragon…” He paused, unable to quite speak of what he had seen aloud, “You cannot deny it, Sif. I saw you.”

“I have no wish to deny it, Loki. I only wish to make amends for the damage I have wrought.” She paused, weighed down by her own guilt and shame, “I should have known better, and not have allowed the dragon to trick me.”

“But you could not help it, Sif. The dragon’s magic was too strong.”

“No.” Sif’s voice was growing harder now, in opposition to the growing confusion in Loki’s voice, “The dragon’s magic was strong enough to make me believe it was you. But it was my own weakness, my own desire, which allowed me to fall into its trap.”

Loki shook his head, he did not want to hear her words, to think about what they may mean, “But I saw you…”

“Loki.” She stepped towards him then, tried to keep her voice clear as she made her final move, hoping the timing was right. “The dragon had no need to bewitch me.”

There was anxiety in his eyes, confusion and Sif took a deep breath before she continued, trying not to lose her nerve. “It tricked me, confused me, made me believe it was you…”

“But you… you kissed it.” Loki interrupted, his voice wavering.

“Because I thought it was you.”

“Sif, I… I do not understand.”

“I thought the dragon was you, Loki. That is the only reason I kissed it. That was the reason it took your form. The dragon knew that the most effective way to lure me to its lair was to pretend to be you.” Sif took a step towards him as she spoke, and another. He flinched, looked away from her, but held his ground as she came closer, like a predator trapping its prey. She pushed down her own guilt at her actions, but she had to make him understand.

“But, why?”

“Because I care for you, Loki.”

 


	25. Chapter 25

_A/N - So, big apologies yet again for the delay with this chapter. Real life keeps on getting in the way, but after re-watching Thor: The Dark World recently, my Sif/Loki muse came back in full force!_

_Anyway, this really is the last chapter, so I hope you enjoy it and it was worth the wait._

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As the words left her mouth, Sif paused, feeling a great weight leave her yet simultaneously crush her heart. The words had been said, the final move of their game played and there could be no retreating now. At her words he glanced towards her, opened his mouth as if to speak, but his silvertongue had turned to lead. Sif tried to hold his gaze, beseeching him to believe her, but he quickly looked away again, turning his head towards the glistening lights of the Citadel. He made no other movement, but she watched as the emotions flickered across his face; agitation, confusion, shock, disbelief, too many she could not read, and she waited for him to speak.

The words echoed around in his head and it was many moments before he could even comprehend what she had said. She _cared_ for him? But… but that could not be… it was impossible… “You… you were bewitched…” Loki eventually replied, the words tumbling out, tangled and confused and unintended. “You must still be bewitched…” It was the only thing that made sense. Sif must still be under the dragon’s spell. It may have been five days and the dragon may now lay slain, its head encased in wood and iron and hung within the palace, but its magic must still linger. His reasoning helped calm his confounded thoughts and he met her eyes then, managed to school his face into apathy and keep his voice steady, authoritative as he continued, “The dragon’s spell persists, Lady Sif. You are still bewitched and are speaking under the duress of its magic.”

There were many different ways Sif had imagined his reply as she had waited anxiously for him to speak, but this response was a complete shock. His nonchalant dismissal to such a heartfelt confession annoyed and frustrated her. Loki was determined to discount the truth, no matter how illogical his reasonings became and it cut her deeply. The pain fuelled her anger and she had to fight down the urge to walk away, to leave him to fester in his denials and lies. But that would only deepen the problems and tensions already thick and bitter between them. She must make him understand, and it must be tonight. So with clenched fists and a deep breath, Sif forced herself to continue, “I assure you, Loki, I am under no spell. The dragon read what was in my heart and used my affection for you to trick me.”

“These are the words the dragon’s magic has led you to speak, Sif. You do not know you own mind under its bewitchment.”

“The dragon is dead, Loki, by your own hand! And its magic, and any enchantments along with it! The only hold it ever had against me was making me believe it was you. It used the affection and desire I already held for you against me, Loki.” Her voice was hard as she replied, unable to contain her aggravation. Not the ideal way to declare such an intimate thing, but Sif knew her patience was about to shatter. She watched him, watched his eyes dart about anxiously as he tried to take in this information. She could see him try to analyse it, discredit it, look for the lies and tricks within. The trickster, so used to lies and games, could not accept the truth. She forced her voice softer as she finished, “But I have always cared for you.”

He turned away from her then, turned towards the balcony and away from the annoyance and anger flashing in her eyes. From the truth in her words. He gripped the railing hard, the cool metal digging into his skin. “You speak these words because the dragon’s magic still confuses and bewitches you, Lady Sif. But it will fade in time and I promise I will not hold any of your words or actions now against you.”

“Loki!” Sif grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him back around to face her. “For all your supposed intelligence, you can be more idiotic than Thor sometimes!” Sif took a deep breath and dropped her grip, “I know I am not bewitched, Loki! I know my own mind and my own heart and I have cared for you far longer than I have known the insipid dragon!”

“Sif…” He started to say, but Sif was done with words now, with lies and games and truths. What more could be said? All that was within her heart had been laid bare. The time for words was over, and Sif had never been one for words. Action. That had always suited her well and she acted now. She pushed down her wave of guilt at imposing on him again, let her anger guide her movements and reached towards him. Her hands were rough and strong when she gripped his head, as fierce as any warrior on the battlefield as she pulled him towards her. Before he had time to speak and before she had time to think, she crushed her lips against his.

His lips were cool beneath hers and they tasted of wine and magic and _him._ It was intoxicating and for a moment Sif could only think of kissing him, _finally_ kissing him, that she did not notice Loki’s reaction immediately. Loki did not pull away, but he did not return her kisses either. He was completely still and unresponsive beneath her, as if he had been turned to stone. She tried pulling him closer, crushing her lips more fiercely against his, but still he remained motionless and cold.

After a few moments, Sif pulled away. Away from Loki and her defeat. But as she turned to walk away, his arm suddenly reached out and grabbed hers. The grip was forceful, strong, but it fell away the moment it touched her skin as if it burned. And it did burn her, a rush of pleasurable heat sped up her arm and Sif spun around back towards him. It had been an instinctual move, for both of them, and for a moment they just stood staring at each other, eyes locked in challenge and shock. Sif’s heart was racing, the blood was thundering through her veins, running hot.

“Sif…” He started to say, then stopped, swallowed thickly and opened his mouth to try again. But no words came out, no words filled his head. It was too consumed with surprise and disbelief and wonder and desire. Sif had just kissed him, actually kissed _him_ , and the shock had rendered him speechless and motionless. He could not think, his thoughts echoing her words in time with his pounding heart. _Because I care for you, Loki. Because I have always cared for you._ And even now she looked at him with desire flashing in her fiery golden eyes. At least, he thought it was desire. He could not be sure, even now did not dare to hope. She was meant for Thor, or Fandral, or another strong and mighty warrior, not the sly and slippery God of Mischief. But it had not been Thor’s image the dragon had taken, or another warrior. It had been him...

His whole world, everything he had ever thought about her had been sent spinning around and now he did not know what to say, what to do. He had reached for her unintentionally, automatically and now he knew she was waiting for him to speak, but his silvertongue failed him. Even now, a part of him wondered if this was a trick, if Thor and his friends would jump out, laughing at him and his foolish hope. But Sif was not laughing. She was looking at him the way she had looked at the dragon in his image, when it had been about to kiss her… And the dragon was long defeated, Sif had insisted she was under no enchantment. She has said she desired him, cared for him. That she had _always_ cared for him…

Before he had chance to align his thoughts, Sif acted once more. She had watched him carefully, watched the emotions flicker across his face as he had struggled to find the right words to say. There was surprise there, shock and disbelief, confusion and curiosity. But there was also wonder, awe and something else, something akin to delight, to hope and it gave Sif the courage to act once more. She reached for him again and this time, when her lips pressed against his, Loki did not remain still beneath her. Instead his hands reached for her and buried themselves in her hair, his lips moving against hers feverishly. The surprise which had rendered him motionless before was gone and he could not stop himself from reacting to her embrace. If it was a trick, or merely the influence of magic, Loki did not care. Sif was kissing him with a passion he could not resist. And so he returned her kiss, pulling her closer to him and wrapping his arms tight around her, fearing she may, even now, slip away.

The passion of Loki’s kiss surprised Sif and she pulled away from him momentarily, breathless and disorientated. It was her turn now for doubt and disbelief. Too long had she denied herself the luxury of hope. Never in her darkest fantasies had she imagined it would be like this; the heat, the hunger, the intoxicating taste as Loki returned her kisses so fervently. It must be a dream, an illusion, but the slight tug of his fingertips pulling at her hair was real, as was the warmth of his breath on her cheek and the strength in the arms wrapped around her. His emerald eyes were flashing with hunger and desire and she was caught in their hold, enthralled. She could taste him on her tongue, feel him like molten silver running hot through her veins. She drank him in, savoured the moment as if in a heartbeat he would vanish, merely an illusion, a trick. But one so much sweeter, so much more exhilarating and intoxicating than that of the dragons.

And as Sif fought against her doubts, Loki struggled against his lies. No longer could he cling to the idea she was bewitched. It was slipping like water through his fingers, evaporating in the heat of her skin against his, the hunger in her eyes and the remembrance of the passion of her kiss. The bewitchment would need to be strong, powerful, for her to kiss him so enthusiastically, yet he could sense no stain of its foul magic still upon her. The dragon was long dead and so would its magic be. Yet her eyes burned into his, fierce and consuming, filled with a defiance and a passion that was familiar yet novel to him. It was like the fire he saw flashing in her eyes as she approached her enemy on the battlefield, like the anger as she fought against him with weapons and words. Only now it was fuelled by hunger, longing, not a lust for blood or revenge. And he could still taste her desire on his tongue, hear her heart pounding where it pressed against his chest. There was heat in her fingers as they dug into his shoulders, twisted in his hair. There was no laughter of his friends spilling forth from the shadows, no cruel mockery in her eyes that he had fallen so quickly for her deception. He could not understand it, knew he never would, but no longer could he deny the truth. It was no trick, no bewitchment. Sif had spoken true and, as impossible as it may be, she did care for him.

A thousands memories flashed like lightning between them, so many moments from their past fitting together, like pieces of a puzzle snapping into place. The antagonism and tension that had always tarnished their friendship, all the arguments and misunderstandings that flared up so regularly between them. As their eyes locked together, their gazes hot and intense and burning with challenge and desire and wonder, their strange friendship suddenly made sense.

In the space of a heartbeat, the realisation hit them both, piercing the tension and control between them with a sharp blade. They surged towards each other, with hands and lips and teeth. The tension and frustration that had been building between them for the last five days, the centuries of longing and denial and desire all poured into the kiss. It overwhelmed them and the kiss deepened, became hot and frenzied and urgent. His fingers were in her hair, along her hips, pressing against her back and pushing her closer towards him. Her neck tipped backwards when his lips brushed her jaw, trailing a line of fire down her throat as his mouth found the pulse hammering in her neck. She gripped his shoulders tightly, pulled his lips back to meet hers and as the kiss consumed them both, she pushed him back into the shadowed wall of the balcony.

When they eventually broke apart they were both breathless and trembling. Loki rested his forehead against hers to steady himself and watched as she slowly opened her eyes, her swollen lips turning upwards into a smile. Loki was finding it hard to suppress his own foolish grin, to school the emotions that were spinning around his mind and flickering across his face. He could scarce believe what had just happened. Sif had just kissed him. A deep, passionate kiss and even now still held him close. Part of him wondered if this was all a fantastical dream, but then Sif spoke, her voice breathless and low and teasing and so very, very real.

“I do hope I have the right Loki this time. I would hate to fall for yet another trick of that darn dragon!”

A grin slipped across his lips before he had chance to contain it and his voice was giddy when he spoke, “You do not doubt me still, Sif?” He questioned, but the severity within his voice was undermined when his face broke out into another unintentional smile, when his fingertips tenderly brushed against her cheek. “Indeed, I hope I at least kiss better than the dragon.”

Sif’s smile grew in answer. She did not care if he saw the giddy delight and excitement within her, fuelled by the relief and release of so many years worth of frustration and denial and longing. Loki did care for her, there could be no doubt of that in the way he had kissed her and Sif’s only regret was that she had not acted sooner. But he was here now, wrapped tightly in her arms and so close his breath mingled with hers. She smirked as she replied, her voice flirty and her eyes alight with mischief, “I cannot say, Loki. I do think more extensive analysis is necessary before I can determine correctly.” And before Loki could reply, she kissed him again. A softer kiss this time, gentle and tender, but full of promises of what was to come.

“Perhaps it is I who should be worried, Sif.” His voice whispered along her ear when he pulled away from her. “Perhaps it is you who are the dragon this time, and even now are seeking your revenge and luring me to my death.”

“Could the trickster be so easily fooled though, Loki,” Sif answered, voice teasing as she let her hands trail down his chest.

“Only when it comes to you, Sif.”

There was a touch of sadness to his smile and Sif kissed him quickly, eager to restore the gaiety of a few moments ago. She understood him now, realised why he had kept his distance for so long. She was his weakness as he was hers. And neither warrior nor sorcerer cared to reveal such weaknesses, such fears. It would not be easy, for both of them, to adapt to this pleasant change. It would take time and patience, but both knew with each kiss, all the years of misunderstandings and confusion, the terrible memories from their fight with the dragon, would eventually dissipate. Though as both considered what a pleasing outcome it had elicited, each wondered if it had, perhaps, not been such a horrific encounter, after all.

 

**The End**

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_A/N – Just want to take this opportunity to say thank you to everyone who stuck with the story, despite all the delays, and for all the kind reviews._

_Now, what story should I write next?_


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